


The Only Thing That’s Real

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is Bad at Feelings, Connor Deserves Happiness, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Poor Connor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Hank Anderson, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Touch-Starved Connor (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-01-31 09:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21443815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Connor didn’t understand pain.  Android’s senses came from computer scans, they didn’t feel the way that humans did.  But after a targeted assault from a grudge fueled attackers intent on making Connor feel pain.And Connor’s not sure if he can go back to feeling nothing.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 161
Kudos: 474
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

It was October, the streets were covered in ice, and the heater rattled as it blasted out warmth but barely got the house to seventy-two degrees. From the window, Connor saw Halloween decorations. He had been activated for last year's Halloween, but he had spent that time in a storage unit. This year he watched with growing excitement as pumpkins and skeletons and fake blood began to fill their street.

If it was any other day than today, Connor would have begged to do something festive. Hank promised to take him to a pumpkin patch so they could carve jack-o-lanterns. Hank promised, because after months of being a beat cop Fowler had decided that Connor had earned his place as a detective. The promotion got a reward, Hank promised they would celebrate. But not that day.

Today they had to stay in. The snow melted in the noon and froze again when the temperatures dropped. They weren’t safe to drive on. Today was the day of the accident, the roads were bad, and Hank was being haunted by memories.

Today was different from other days. Connor understood that grief affected humans in ways he couldn’t understand. Connor had never experienced loss. He had a family to lose. He didn’t fault Hank for that day.

Connor hesitated, spending just a few extra minutes looking at the fake police tape on their neighbor’s porch. It had been an hour and forty-five minutes since Hank had last consumed water. The bottle of whiskey was half empty at this point. Hank would be dehydrated and more water would help with the hangover in the morning.

Connor filled up the glass, eyeing Hank warily. The man’s eyes were red and glazed, he didn’t react at all to Connor moving about the room. he stood at the sink and watched the water swirl in the glass.

Hank hadn’t gotten this drunk in a while. Most of the time the old man was buzzed and grumpy, but tonight was different. Tonight allowed for unique circumstances and tomorrow all will be forgiven.

Hank had broken two glasses already, the outside trash can filling up with shards that Connor had swept up. He was careful not to startle Hank as he set the glass in front of him.

Still, Hank flinched back. “Jesus, what the fuck are you doing?”

“You should have a glass of water, Lieutenant. You’ll feel better then.” Connor said. 

Perhaps it was Connor’s own fault. He probably wasn’t being sensitive enough. He may be doing this all wrong, denying his friend some vital human need in the face of grief. Connor’s only goal for the night was to assist in Hank’s health, his mind drew a blank in his friends emotional needs. Connor didn’t like feeling useless.

Hank jumped to his feet so quickly that he stumbled and grabbed onto Connors wrist with an iron grip to steady himself. The quick motion left them both leaning over the table, Hank huffing in anger, and Connor’s LED spinning a flickering yellow. 

“You think a glass of goddamn water would make me feel better? You think anything you give me would make me feel better?” Hank hissed. His breath smelled sour as he hissed through gritted teeth in Connor’s face.

Usually when Connor crossed some social line, the Lieutenant was gentler. Usually he didn’t get as angry. On a different day he may have laughed when Connor said something out of line, even on instances like now when Connor wasn’t sure why what he said was wrong, even when Hank was drunk he would laugh about it. On other days.

“You need something to drink besides whiskey. It would benefit you in the morning if-“

“I don’t fucking care what I need!” Hank said firmly, pushing Connor’s arm away. He turned away, swaying on his feet and catching himself with a hand on the fridge. “Are you going to be up my ass all night? Can you just leave me alone for this one goddamn night?” His voice grew softer and softer with each word he forced out.

Connor eyed the glass on the table, still intact and safe. “I just want you to be okay.” Connor said. 

What was he doing wrong? All his social databases stated that humans sought out companionship in times of stress. On bad days at work, when the cases turned gruesome, Hank went to the bar. He would drink with other people even if just sitting alone with his glass off to the side. Today was different. These days happened every once in a while. Connor knew these days were different because of Cole, but Connor didn’t understand. He was doing it wrong.

** _[Warning!]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: 67%]_ **

Hank sighed, reaching up and rubbing his palm against his face, fingers digging into his eyes. “I know, Connor.” Hank said. He sounded exhausted.

“I understand that this is a personal matter, but perhaps you would-“

“You know what I need Connor?” Hank said quickly, cutting him off again. The android shook his head and waited for Hank to continue. “I need a light blue Gatorade. They sell them at the 7-Eleven about four blocks south.”

Connor nodded eagerly. He was already finding the store on his GPS. “What flavor of Gatorade would you like?” Connor asked.

Hank huffed again. “I said light blue.”

Light blue wasn’t a flavor, but it was at least a description he could use when he gets there. A quick internet search found that only Gatorade made only one light blue flavor, Glacier Freeze, and was very popular.

Connor nodded again and made his way towards the front door, patting his pocket even though his scanner already telling him that his wallet was there. He pulled his jacket off the hook, frowning as Sumo hopped off the couch and briskly walked over to sit at his feet.

“No, buddy.” Connor said as he leaned down to whisper to the dog. “Keep an eye on the place until I get back.” 

“Hey Connor, be careful. It's slippery out. Wear your hat.” Hank said.

It was late. Recently there had been a spike of injured androids. Few of the victims had been willing to speak to the police, even when Connor tried to speak to them. Everyone assumed one or several anti-android attackers. Officer Miller even worried about a hate group. Connor pulled his hat down low enough to cover his LED. It was cold enough for it to be an appropriate look for a human walking at night.

He opened the door.

“Connor, I’m sorry.” Hank said.

Connor hesitated at the door, looking back over his shoulder. He took a moment to process the apology, wondering what it was and what it wasn’t for. If he should accept it or apologize in return. There was a strange sensation in his chest. It felt like there was something dangling somewhere among the different bits of machinery. Connor ran an internal scan, there was nothing there.

It must be the stress.

** _[Stress levels: 63%]_ **

Stress could cause strange bodily sensations, though much less common and extreme in androids. Connor held his hand against his chest as he walked down away from the house and down the sidewalk.

His scanners read the temperature at seven degrees. His internal cooling system was at low power. Androids didn’t mind the cold, if anything it gave them more energy. It would take him twelve minutes to walk to the store at his current pace, slowed by the ice but not by much.

Besides, Hank had insisted he wanted to be alone. Connor was invading his space, doing all the same things he did every other night and today was one of the bad nights where Hank hated him for it. Tomorrow would be back to normal.

Connor looked back over his shoulder. Hank didn’t have any halloween decorations up yet. Connor hadn’t found any at all in the garage.

Maybe there would be some at the store. Tomorrow, when things are normal again, they could put them up and then go get their pumpkin.

A figure was walking down the sidewalk towards him and Connor hunched his shoulders forward a bit, looking down. The streets were never safe at night, even before the revolution. Before Connor was seen marching thousands of androids from Cyberlife tower. He ran a quick scan, they were an android. They had their head down as well, body tense as they marched past him, something long and thin tucked close to them under their jacket. Their eyes drifted up to Connor as they passed.

He was a block away from the store, he could see the glowing lights of the 7-Eleven now. They had a new machine for a “Thirium Blue” slurpee. Connor had it before. He liked it. He thought he might get one. It would be a fast trip. He had to get home, in case Hank neede-

** _[Warning! Impact Alert!]_ **

** _[Damage to Temporal Plating]_ **

“Are you sure this is the one?” Someone said.

“Yeah that’s him, hurry up!”

** _[Self-Defence Programs Activating. . .]_ **

Connor was dazed from the blow to his head. Many of cognitive programs were blocked by error messages, damage alerts, and was glitching as it recalibrated around the damage. He was stalled for a few moments. He was not designed to stall or delay. Not long enough for his body to be dragged off of the sidewalk and into the alleyway. He shouldn’t have been attacked. Why wasn’t his arms moving?

His self-defence programs came online finally as the bat swung downwards. It was stopped suddenly, loudly clanging against the cracking plastimetal of his wrist from the force of it. Connor felt the shockwave through his arm as his hand caught the bat. 

Connor let go quickly, his body struggling to keep up with the glitches in his program, the static and the delayed sensors and scanners telling him just fast enough to block the next attack that there was a second assailant. He could only hold up his arm as the bat came down with full strength against the length of it.

** _[Warning! Impact Alert!]_ **

** _[Right Forearm Cracked]_ **

** _[Damage to Right Wrist Joint]_ **

** _[Top Priority: Reduce Threat To Nearby Humans]_ **

** _[Scanning Area. . .]_ **

There were no humans. Both of his attackers were androids. Their faces covered by bandannas and hoods over their heads. Both of them carried aluminum bats, brand new except for the dent in the side of one. If he scanned it, Connor was sure it would match the dented Temporal Plate on the side of his head. They intended to beat him, their stress levels were elevated, and Connor wondered if they wanted to kill him. Many people thought he deserved it, but there had been no threats for months.

“What are-“

“Shut up!” One of the androids said loudly, practically screaming it at him.

The bat was raised high in the air, ready to swing down again. It was shaking. Androids weren’t known to tremble, except for deviants with extremely high stress. These androids were shaking wildly, their gait unsteady, the bat wobbling. Connor should be able to get away fine. Their stress levels were dangerous and holding steady.

But his vision was like static. There were errors flashing his HUD. It was difficult to concentrate. Deviancy came with a lot of changes, it made it difficult to focus. His damage reports lingered in his vision and his scans came back inconclusive. The only thing Connor knew for sure was that he had a head injury and a broken arm.

He moved out of the way when the swaying bat came down again. He was slow, barely managing to roll out of the way of the first blow while not even being capable of scanning the second one.

** _[Outgoing Call to “Hank Anderson”. . .]_ **

** _[. . .]_ **

The bat hit him in the chest, a loud crack sounded as new warning signs flashed before Connor’s eyes. They were all so confusing. They were overwhelming him. He reached a hand out in front of him towards his attackers. He was outnumbered, his head was jumbled and confused.

** _[Error: Self-Defence Program Malfunctions]_ **

** _[Damage to Temporal Plate Detected]_ **

** _[Damage to Right Arm Detected]_ **

** _[Damage to Thirium Pump Casing Detected]_ **

** _[Outgoing Call to “Hank Anderson”: Missed]_ **

Hank didn’t answer. He frowned as the two androids stared down at him, bats in shaking hands. Their weight shifted from foot to foot, taking a step forward before stumbling back.

** _[Scanning Androids. . .]_ **

** _[Possible Malfunctions Detected]_ **

** _[Scanning. . .] _**

** **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

Connor squeezed his eyes shut. The errors did not go away. He couldn’t read his scanners, his sensors. Connor couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe.

“We must have knocked something loose. It felt good, that first hit. I broke your LED.” A male voice said. The android speaking began to quickly walk in a large circle around Connor. The fresh, powdery snow turned to slush under his feet.

Connor couldn’t focus enough to read their stress levels, but they had to rising. They were behaving erratically. 

“I bet it would hurt. Do you want to feel that?” The android asked.

** _[Chance of Surviving A Physical Altercations: 37%]_ **

** _[Objective: Defuse the Situation]_ **

** _[Top Priority: The Androids are Malfunctioning and In Need of Medical Attention.]_ **

** _[Secondary Priority: I am Injured and In Need of Medical Attention.]_ **

** _[Call the Police: Y/N?]_ **

If the androids were malfunctioning, they may not be able to respond to police direction. The last thing their situation needed was needless tension between androids and the police. Connor was afraid. 

“Are we really going to do it?” The Second android said, speaking for the first time. He reached into his pocket. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ve gone this far.”

They had the same voice.

Connor slowly started to scoot himself back, away from the two androids, but they hardly even glanced away from him. The first android shifted the bat from one hand into the other.

“I have my wallet. That’s what you want, right?” Connor said. He huffed in frustration as he reached awkwardly into his pocket, his right arm not wanting to cooperate.

He needed to establish communication. Connor needed to know what their demands were. It felt like he was negotiating a hostage situation, except he was also the hostage and damaged. There wasn’t a protocol on how to negotiate for his own life. He hadn't thought to design one now that he was deviant. 

He held his wallet out with a steady hand. He was being attacked by Androids, it couldn’t be a hate crime. They were malfunctioning, they needed a goal to focus on. The most common reason for a random assault was the involvement of money. Connor had access to all of his finances in his internal processor, they could steal his credit cards but in a blink he had already cancelled them all. 

The first android began to walk around him once again, eyes wide and staring down at him. The second android stayed where he stood. Connor got the sense that he was being circled. He couldn't see both of them, he had to turn his head, his scanners coming back with a series of errors that kept overwhelming him, blocking his senses.

“I thought this would be harder, since he’s supposed to be the Deviant Hunter and all.” The second android said.

They knew him. This wasn’t a random mugging. This wasn’t a hate crime. This was targeted. They came here looking for him. The situation was slow to process in his mind as his priorities shifted, still suspecting they were malfunctioning, corruption in their data, that they needed help. But they came here with intentions and Connor wasn’t in much shape to fight them off. Today had been distracting, he didn’t see the ambush coming and now he was damaged. Hank would he too drunk to help and Connor didn’t think he would even answer the phone.

** _[Outgoing Call to “Dispatch”. . .]_ **

** _[“Detroit Emergency Services”]_ **

Connor didn’t want to alert the androids to police presence. He didn’t want them to feel rushed to do what they came here to do, with aluminum bats and their bodies shaking from stress and anxiety. Their eyes didn’t blink, they stared at him. They seemed hesitant to look away. Connor didn’t need to speak verbally to send the message out.

** _[“Assault involving three androids. Two attackers, both appear disoriented. Third android injured but non-critical. Non-lethal force highly recommended. Police should interact with caution.”] _ **

Connor focused on the main pieces of information as he sent in their GPS location. Now he just needed to stall for time.

“I’m not a machine anymore. I’m not-“

“You’re a monster!” The first android said, showing to he more erratic. “You shot him!”

The bat swung high in the air and immediately came down. It clanged loudly as it hit the sidewalk, Connor managed to roll out of the way. He needed to get to his feet. The androids rushed towards him, feet crunching through the thin snow and scraping against the layer of ice underneath. One of them slid into him, knocking them both to the ground. The damage warnings and errors flashed brighter, more intense and demanding as the damaged plates and his broken arm were jostled in the scuffle. One of them sat on his chest. His working arm was pinned under a heavy boot. He could hardly see past the glitches.

“Open your mouth!” The android on top of him said.

Connor locked his jaw, keeping it clenched tight. They were going to do something awful. They had come here to hurt him. He did not want to open his mouth.

** _[Warning!]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: 76%]_ **

The police would be here any minute. Connor just needed to hold on for a few more seconds. Fingers were prying at his lips. The desperately scraped against his teeth until thirium touched his tongue.

** _[Warning!]_ **

** _[Minor Damage to Lip Detected]_ **

** _[Analyzing. . .]_ **

Connor didn’t have to wait for results. His lip had been scraped. The thirium was his own. 

“I can’t get his fucking jaw open!” The voice above his head was angry, shaking with desperation.

“Back up!” The other android shouted.

** _[Warning!]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

  
  


** _[Err0r]_ **

  
  
  


** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Severe Head Trauma Detected!]_ **

** _[Return for Repairs Immediately!]_ **

** _[What happened to me?]_ **

** _[Outgoing Call to “Hank Anderson”. . .]_ **

The sensors were misfiring in his head. He couldn't see, his hearing came out scratchy and distorted. His scanners barely registered the fingers against his lips. Damage alerts flashed as his disconnected jaw was pulled open. Something pressed under his tongue.

** _[Analyzing. . .]_ **

** _[Unknown Compound Detected!]_ **

** _[Analyzing. . .]_ **

The weight lifted off of Connor’s chest. He sucked in air and tried to roll onto his stomach. He felt the intense need to stand, to get to his feet, to run away. He was in danger.

** _[Dissolving Unknown Compound]_ **

It was sticky. It would not remove itself from under his tongue. It would be broken down and dissolved into his thirium supply and then filter out. Connor’s face twisted as he stumbled to his feet. Something wet dripped down his face. He focused to clear the many errors and alerts clouding his HUD and look at the blue stained snow splattered around his feet.

He started walking. He needed to get away before they come back. He saw lights, he was supposed to be going somewhere. He lifted his left hand up to press at his limp jaw, at the wetness dripping off of his chin.

The sensation was sharp. It was like nothing Connor had experienced. It was so clear and sharp and loud, overwhelming him and forcing every other thought and sensation from his mind. He screamed. It was impossible to ignore. It was all so tightly compacted into a single force against his chin, like it was digging in at the sides and being ripped from his face and each sensor was sending off a physical response.

Androids didn't feel things physically. They felt a shift in their scanners. A series of binary code helping a computer pretend to feel. This was wrong. Nothing was supposed to feel like this.


	2. Chapter 2

When Connor was able to focus he was standing in front of a long row of fridges, staring through the glass doors at the many different colors of Gatorade. There were sensations he had never felt before. An ache from the cold. The throbbing in his head. Spikes of sharp pain, it had to be pain, engulfing him, making his body tremble as if it was about to fall apart.

Maybe he was about to, he seemed damaged enough. He looked over the bottles of Gatorade, confused on how there were so many different colors to choose from.

“Connor?”

Hank had asked for light blue. Glacier Freeze, though Hank had only called it by the color. There was a lot of colors. How can humanity need so many choices of flavors? What was it like? The fingers of his right hand twitched as he took a step towards the coolers. The pain twisted up his arm, he let out a soft and tired hum.

Light blue was the most popular flavor. Humans enjoyed it. The mysterious paste was awful. It was thick and felt stuck and smeared there and he couldn’t get it out. It was already being broken down, a foreign object being removed. His whole mouth tasted like it. Connor hated it. He was tasting it. He didn’t know how to describe it, the way it made his face want to pinch. What did light blue taste like?

That had to be what he was experiencing. Taste. He hated the experience. What was special about light blue?

“Connor?”

He remembered he wanted a slurpee. They made thirium ones for androids. He had wanted to get one. He turned, looking for the slurpee machine.

“Connor, are you alright? Do you know who I am?”

** _[Scanning. . .]_ **

He blinked slowly, his head was throbbing, right behind the eyes. Connor tried to blink away the static. None of this felt very real.

** _[Scan Complete]_ **

  
  


He smiled. “Officer Miller.” Connor was surprised to find Chris standing next to him. The slightest movement of his jaw sent waves of sharp stabbing pain over his face, down his spine. Pain.

Pain.

** _[Pain.]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

Chris smiled. “Hi, Con. Do you know where you are?”

Connor nodded, trying to stay focused. He didn't want to get overwhelmed by it again. The 7-Eleven four blocks away from home had been his original destination. It was so close. He had seen its lights.

** _[Accessing GPS]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Location Acquired]_ **

He was not at the 7-Eleven. He was three miles away in a CVS. He had walked the entire way, somehow lost in the forcefulness of the pain. It confused him. Something was happening to him. Why did something have to happen to him today?

** _[Warning! Jaw Disconnected]_ **

He needed to tell Chris something. He needed to have something to bring home, something to make Hank happy, something to apologize with for not doing this right. Hank was upset with him. That had to be why he didn’t answer the phone.

Connor took a step towards the fridge, reaching out with his left hand. The light blue were not hard to find. They were noticeably placed in the center. Hank would be happy with it.

“Connor we have some paramedics outside who want to take a look at you, okay?” Chris said softly. He held a hand out to Connor. It was a gentle offering. Connor remembered what was happening. He remembered that, the fact of the matter was, he was the victim in this case. His name was in a different part of the paperwork.

He held up the bottle of Gatorade. It was cold, the chill made his fingers ache, the delicate mechanical joints stiffening slightly. It was cold. The temperature registered the drop and Connor knew for certain it was cold. His fingers felt like they were burning. He felt a fire radiating off if the bottle, but the scans told him it was cold. He hated pain.

Chris nodded. “Yeah, you can bring it. Don’t worry.” He kept talking gently. Connor wasn’t sure he liked the tone used on him.

He hummed softly. He tucked the bottle against his chest and ducked his head as he moved towards Officer Miller. He was ready to go home. He was so tired. He wanted to enter stasis until everything was back to normal.

Chris kept a hand at Connor’s back, occasionally bumping him but never touching him intently. He was supposed to pay for the drink and even though his wallet was gone he still had a remote mobile access to his bank account. Officer Miller lead him straight out of the building and no one stopped him from leaving with it.

There was indeed an ambulance, one of the new ones with the blue stripes that stated they were equipped for android care. Connor was tempted by the gurney. He could let them do what they needed and he could enjoy the peace of no power mode. He didn’t feel anything when he was in stasis.

“It’s okay, Connor. Lay back okay, I'll stay if you want.” Chris said softly. “I’m riding with.” He didn’t hesitate for the paramedics to respond, he was already climbing in as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance.

Connor hadn’t realized he would go to the hospital. It was obvious now. There would be an investigation. Of course. Hank would find out. He would be angry. Especially today.

Connor’s body jerked as pain shot up his arm. It was an indescribable amount of feeling all crashing down on him and shooting through his arm, it was sharp and intense and bad. It made Connor want to scream.

Maybe he did. It was hard to tell what he was doing, his body was betraying him.

“It's alright. I know this must be scary, but I just want to hook your neck up to some scanners so we can get an in depth list of the damages.” The android said. She sounded calm. She almost sounded friendly, but her hand was pressing against Connor’s, damaged right arm.

** _[Request to Interface: Y/N?]_ **

“No.” Connor forced the words out. It hurt so much. Everything hurt so much. He didn’t want anyone touching his arm. The voice speaker was barely able to register the words he wanted to get out and his jaw twitched in the automatic attempt to speak. It was excruciating, he ripped his arm out of the android’s hold.

He almost fully propelled his body off of the gurney. They weren’t even moving yet. The human paramedic had been trying to strap him in. Chris caught him. He wrapped his arms around Connor’s chest and stopped him from falling to the ground.

** _[Stress Levels: ^72%]_ **

** _[Threat Detected!]_ **

** _[Self-Defence Programs Activating. . .]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

  
  


** _[Error]_ **

  
  
  


** _[Error]_ **

“Connor, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe okay, Hank’s waiting for you. They’re gonna fix you up. I promise, okay, I promise.” Chris said, rambling into Connor’s ear.

** _[Threat Detected!]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

Connor was being held down. Everything hurt so much. He needed to get away.

** _[Interface Connected]_ **

“Fuck! Connor, please calm down!” Chris said loudly, strained almost.

Connor shouted, trying to fight against the arms trapping him. They were beating him. Why would Chris let them beat him? And in an instant, it all stopped. Connor fell limp, all the pain had disappeared. His body felt pulled apart, his right arm felt like it was disconnected, gone, and no longer hurting him. His head felt incomplete. The shattered bits of his skull vanished from his sensors.

“What did you do?” Chris asked. He was still holding Connor. He felt the officer’s arms around him, digging into his sides. He was warm. Connor was still feeling it. Everything. He felt the pressure against his skin. He was cold. He felt soaked and so cold, he had been in the snow. He hated feeling wet. It all felt so real. The physical sensation seemed urgent, new and loud and demanding his attention.

Connor closed his eyes.

“I disconnected the damage components from his sensory feedback. The trauma of it was probably causing a panic attack.” The android said. She sounded so close, her voice hovering above him. “He shouldn’t be getting so many damage reports now that his sensors aren’t reporting the damage.”

There was no pain.

Connor didn’t open his eyes until they had his body secured down to the gurney and the ambulance began to move. Something warm and heavy curled into his left hand. His mind was buzzing. Now that the arms around him were one, replaced by the safety straps of the gurney, he felt cold. It felt so strikingly alarming and demanding compared to warmth. It made him ache, it made his skin sting uncomfortably.

When he finally looked up and opened his eyes he saw nothing. It was static, different colors and shapes drifting into one another. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus again. Everything seemed to shift into everything else, slowly shapes began to become clear, forming in front of him. He was still in the ambulance. The vehicle swayed as it moved. The static lingered in the edge of his vision. Were his eyes damaged?

How much of him was damaged? How much was broken beyond repair? Connor’s stomach flipped at the thought of being taken apart and replaced with different parts. It felt like it was twisting. Nothing in that area was damaged, nothing to explain the sensation of his body twisting in on itself.

When he was finally able to focus in the bright floresects in the ceiling of the ambulance in a clear enough shape he turned to look to his sides. Chris was on his left. The heavy, warm weight in Connor’s hand happened to be Chris’s.

Officer Miller had always been Connor’s friend. Even before the revolution, before Connor had woken up, Chris had been kind. He was lucky. Reed could have showed up. Or any number of cops at the station who didn’t like him. Even though he wasn’t a detective, that he had been working hard for almost a year to pay his dues as a regular cop, that he was earning his place, they still hated him.

He was lucky that Chris was the one to find him.

“Tina went to check your place. I’m sure she’ll bring Anderson to meet you at the hospital.” Chris said. “We came looking for you. You weren’t at the address you called from.”

Connor nodded. He remembered that. He remembered having to leave, they were going to hurt him again. They hated him. Wanted to hurt him. He had to leave.

“The cashier called when you wandered in. Three miles away. Do you know how you got here? Did someone bring you?” Chris asked softly, his hand giving Connor’s a quick and gentle squeeze. The sensation of the touch and the pressure on his fingers had surprised him, he nearly flinched at the feeling. His internal sensors processed the touch on a delay in a few milliseconds and Connor’s were the most advanced on the market. It felt dull and empty in comparison.

“I walked.” There was no pain. His jaw felt nothing.

Connor didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not.

** _[Accessing Memory. . .]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^76%]_ **

“Can’t this wait?” The paramedic said quickly.

Connor turned to look at her. It was the android. The damaged arm was being taken apart, he saw his disconnected hand laying off to the side. Thirium lines were connected and serious leaks sealed until they could reach the repair center.

Chris squeezed Connor’s intact hand again. He didn’t say anything else. They were touching him, moving pieces of his body around, taking him apart. If the damage was too great, if he was irreparable then perhaps it would best to not waste spare parts. Maybe they knew that and were trying to salvage what they could from him.

Was he shutting down?

** _[Stress Levels: ^79%]_ **

“Connor, can you hear me?” The android asked. He flinched. He could hear her. Many of his non-critical systems were entering low power mode.

** _[Critical Warning!]_ **

** _[Thirium Levels: Below 49%]_ **

“Your stress levels are elevated and you're experiencing excessive Thirium loss. We’re gonna put you into standby, okay?” The android said.

He wondered if it would be painless. He didn’t want to feel pain anymore. He wondered if he would even know he was dying. Hank would miss him, Sumo would as well. Maybe Chris and a few other officers.

No one at Jericho. Connor was almost certain. Markus and his friends regarded Connor with veiled caution at best and open discomfort at worst. But since most of the androids woke up because of him he was known by all of them and enough knew what he was and what he had done for it to be clear that although he may not be banned from Jericho, he wasn’t exactly welcome. Connor never voiced his feelings or suspicions to anyone, but it was confirmed tonight. Two androids thought he deserved to die.

** _[Stress Levels: ^82%]_ **

A loud whine escaped the speakers in his throat, his voice box. It was metallic, like one of those whale songs trying to okay through too much static. Connor wanted to laugh at the comparison. Where had he heard whale songs before?

** _[Attempting Memory Recall. . .]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^85%]_ **

The pressure on his hand increased. His fingers were being squished. He wanted to pull away but his arm wouldn’t move. Connor couldn’t move. His arm wasn’t even twitching.

** _[Error]_ **

He was dying. There was no shutdown timer. How was he supposed to know that he was dying? How would he know how much time was left? Seconds? Minutes? Connor let his internal clock tick. It was calibrated with an Atomic clock for utmost accuracy. He saw the seconds if the day tick by. He wished it was a timer. At least then Connor would know.

His vision was going out. His thirium levels had been dropping recently, sending some of his systems into shock when they suddenly entered low power mode against his will. His vision was dark, the static almost making him blind. Connor turned his head. Was Chris still there? Connor felt lucky he was there. Chris was always kind to him, even before.

He couldn’t see anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Exiting Stasis. . .]_ **

** _[Running Systems Check. . .]_ **

** _[Primary Systems Status: Functioning]_ **

** _[Secondary Systems Statis: Functioning]_ **

** _[All Systems Online]_ **

His eyes were already open when they came online. Exiting stasis was a process that took a few milliseconds as the background systems finished their scans as he woke up. His software was calibrating to changes. Usually the changes were just his short term data storage being organized and transferred to long term storage.

** _[Stress Levels: 37%]_ **

** _[Thirium Levels: 99.99%]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Discrepancy Detected!]_ **

** _[Running Analysis]_ **

** _[Analysis Complete]_ **

** _[00.14% Contamination Detected]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

Connor stared upwards at the large square tiles arranged above him. Waking up was taking longer than normal. His body wasn’t yet responding and the scans lingered on his HUD. They were extensive. Far too many abnormalities to the easy and efficient startup he was used to.

** _[Running Diagnostics. . .]_ **

** _[Repaired Damage: Right Temporal Plates Replaced, Jaw Reconstructed, Right Forearm Replaced, Thirium Pump Regulator Repaired, Additional Minor Repairs.]_ **

** _[Running Analysis. . .]_ **

** _[Analysis Complete]_ **

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 23%]_ **

** _[Error: Incompatible Biocomponent]_ **

Connor tried to tap one of the fingers on his right hand. The arm felt heavy. There was an annoying sense of static. His fingers were numb by the tingling, and he couldn’t seem to move them. The sensation faded as it moved up his arm towards his elbow.

“Please state your model and serial number,” A voice said.

** _[Running Facial Recognition. . .]_ **

It was a PJ500. Josh. Connor turned his head to look at the android standing three feet to his right, monitoring a screen before turning to smile at Connor.

“RK800 #313-248-317-52.” Connor said. 

Josh smiled. He took a step closer, pulling the screen so he could still see it clearly from his new position. His hand reached out and laid on Connor’s arm.

“Do you know your name?”

** _[Request to Interface: Y/N?]_ **

Connor sucked in a deep breath. The hand was gentle, fingers barely gripping with any pressure at all. Warm. And soft. Connor felt the delicate brushing against his wrist. All of the sensations reading out as data in his head but he couldn’t describe how it felt. His own hand moved, sliding his arm out from under Josh’s and reaching out to feel his wrist. His skin was so soft, radiating low levels of heat as the internal cooling systems pushed it from the body. He held tighter, squeezing, feeling the soft pressure of Josh trying to pull his hand away.

** _[Stress Levels: ^41%]_ **

“My name is Connor,” He said. He let go, letting Josh’s soft and warm hand pull back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just…”

Connor didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what was happening to him. It wasn’t anything he had experienced before. Several prompts for conversation appeared, offering different predictable branches of conversation in an attempt to gather information. They appeared automatically.

** _[Tell Josh About The Errors]_ **

** _[Tell Josh About The Thirium Contamination]_ **

** _[Tell Josh About The Malfunctions To Physical Sensors]_ **

** _[Tell Josh About The Attack]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^49%]_ **

“It's alright,” Josh said. He was already reaching out again. His skin was pulling back white plastimetal settling on Connors wrist once again.

“I was attacked,” Connor said.

The memory had pulled up automatically. It played before his eyes. He watched the swing of the bat and felt helpless as his processors were too slow to realize he could have caught it. He could have stopped it. He didn’t know why he hadn’t been able to then.

** _[Stress Levels: ^55%]_ **

** _[Request to Interface: Y/N?]_ **

** _[Y]_ **

“Yes, you were. Do you remember it?” Josh asked.

He must have seen Connor’s stress levels, they were elevated. He felt a rush of comfort through their connection. It was like an iron, smoothing out the building errors and his rising stress levels. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his code.

** _[Stress Levels: v41%]_ **

“I remember,” Connor said.

“Do you know who it was?” Josh asked.

“No.”

They both hesitated a moment. The interface only open to that calm feeling that weighed Connor down. Connor wondered how much of him Josh saw.

“Can you show me?” Josh asked.

Connor wanted to grip Josh’s hand again. He wanted to feel his skin again, the softness of it, the warmth. Right now the hard plastic of his fingers felt cold. His arm felt cold.

“I don’t want to watch it again,” Connor said.

Josh smiled again, a small and sad one. Sympathetic. Gentle. Connor knew Josh was kind in the few times they had interacted before. They had survived together, on the ship. They had stood together on the podium. They have spoken a few times since. Josh was kind, Connor knew that. Still, he hadn’t expected so much care.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[“You’re a monster. You shot him.”]_ **

** _[Interface Disconnected]_ **

Connor pulled his arm away from Josh the instant the words started to echo around in his head. He didn’t want the other android to hear it. There weren’t many androids he had fired at, but each one was flashing through his mind. He didn’t want Josh to see it.

Connor sat up, pulling away from the android and swinging his legs over the side of the table he laid on. His back was to Josh. Connor reached up and pressed his fingers against his LED. He dragged his hand against the replacement pieces of his head. The smooth skin and the soft strands of his hair. There was so much, he could feel each strand moving against his palm.

** _[Stress Levels: ^53%]_ **

** _[Selecting Memory Files]_ **

** _[Disable Automatic Access to Selected Files]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

It was a stupid thing to do. The files had important information regarding the attack, he knew he shouldn’t disable the access but he didn’t want the memories to open anymore. He would have to manually pull it up if he chose to. He didn’t want to see it anymore. He didn't want to hear it again. He didn’t want to feel it.

** _[Disable Complete]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

He was feeling so much.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. The police will ask you questions and I was just hoping this would be easier on you.” Josh said slowly.

There was no sign of damage in the smooth skin around his head. He was fixed. His fingers tried to find the dented plated, caved in and cracked from the swing of the bats. He was looking for the pain. It wasn’t there. Just soft warmth.

“Hank is waiting outside. He agreed that it would be best not to overwhelm you. He brought a friend though, if you’re up for it.” Josh said. His words were beginning to draw out. Each one sounded like a suggestion. A choice he was encouraged to make.

Hank was here. He was waiting outside with a friend. Connor smiled at the thought. They were waiting to see him.

“Yes please,” Connor said.

Josh smiled again. This amount of smiles was abnormal behavior compared to their past encounters.

** _[Stress Levels: v46%]_ **

Connor’s stress lowered as Josh walked across the room towards the door. He let his hand fall back onto his lap. Hank was here. He was fixed. Everything was okay. No one needed to know it was his fault.

He heard the door slide open. There was the distant sound of voices and the quick patter of dog paws. Sumo was an older dog, he was calm. He prodded his head against Connor’s hands, making a space for him to rest his head on Connor’s lap.

His head was heavy. Connor felt the warm puffs of the dog’s breath. When Sumo whined the vibrations in his chest moved up Connor’s legs. 

** _[Err0r]_ **

“Did you miss me? I’m sorry,” Connor said. 

He laid his left hand on top of Sumo’s haid. He was soft, so soft. The thick fur coming in for the winter. He could get his fingers lost in it, all of it so tangled together.

“You need to be brushed,” Connor whispered to the dog.

Sumo let out another whine. He lifted his head to lick at Connor’s hand. He sucked in hard through his nose, yanking his hand back as the wet slime left behind by Sumo’s tongue dripped from his fingers. He felt the urge to wipe it away against his pants.

“Hey,” Someone said from the doorway.

** _[Scanning. . .]_ **

** _[White Human Male, 6.2ft In Height, 209lbs, 54 Years Old]_ **

** _[Running Facial Recognition. . .]_ **

** _[Lieutenant Hank Anderson]_ **

** _[Hank]_ **

“Hello, Hank.” Connor said softly.

They stared at each other for a moment. Connor saw Hank’s chest rise and fall quickly a few beats before the man rushed forward. He gripped Connor by the shoulders and started shaking him, the pressure so sudden Connor froze up entirely.

** _[Stress Levels: v39%]_ **

Connor leaned towards the touch. He listened to Hank ramble out apologies again and again. They were pouring out of him. Connor leaned forward until he was able to lay his head against Hank’s chest. He shouldn’t do this. Certainly there was a line he was crossing. Hank didn’t want to hold him but Connor felt so greedy for the man’s warmth. He was radiating it, heat pumping from his chest and into Connor as large arms wrapped around him and squeezed.

“I’m so sorry, kid. I shouldn’t have sent you out there. I should have picked up. Fuck Connor, I should have picked up the phone.” Hank repeated the sentiment again and again. Hank had never apologized so much. This was abnormal behavior for the man.

“I’m okay. I’m alright,” Connor said. He did not want to remove himself from Hank’s embrace. “The repairs are withstanding.”

“I don’t give a shit if your repairs are fucking bulletproof, that doesn’t make you okay,” Hank said.

Much to Connor’s distress, Hank pulled back first. He pulled his arms off of Connor and grabbed onto his elbows and held him at arm's length. It was suddenly cold. Connor’s head started spinning. “They did fix you up alright though. Didn’t they?” Hank asked.

Connor could feel the weight of his eyes roaming over him. He was being studied. Hank nodded as if what he saw was satisfactory. Connor ran another scan, certain that everything was perfectly fine.

** _[Discrepancy Detected!]_ **

** _[Running Analysis]_ **

** _[Analysis Complete]_ **

** _[00.13% Contamination Detected]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Running Diagnostics. . .]_ **

** _[Repaired Damage: Right Temporal Plates Replaced, Jaw Reconstructed, Right Forearm Replaced, Thirium Pump Regulator Repaired, Additional Minor Repairs.]_ **

Connor frowned. The prompts that appeared on his HUD made him hesitate. Each one was a conversation he didn’t want to have.

** _[Tell Hank About The Repairs]_ **

** _[Tell Hank About The Thirium Contamination]_ **

** _[Tell Hank About The Attack]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

Connor looked down at himself, at where Hank’s hands gripped him tight. He clenched his mouth shut tightly. It was his fault. Hank had been in mourning. Hank had been distressed. And Connor provoke an attack.

“Hey. Are you okay, kid?” Hank said.

A rough hand moved over Connor’s cheek, calluses scraping against his skin. It moved upwards to press against his LED and to shove his hair off of his forehead.

“It definitely looks better. On the surface you know,” Hank said.

Connor nodded, leaning his head against Hank’s palm. He liked the way the rough hands scratched his cheek gently. He liked how warm he was compared to Josh. Connor remembered the cold outside, when Chris had taken him to the paramedics, that it had felt biting. He remembered so much pain.

“The repairs are withstanding,” Connor said.

Hank huffed through his nose and nodded. He pulled Connor close again, smashing the androids face against his chest, with a hand cupped firmly on the back of Connors head.

Connor let himself be held. He had never felt so warm before. His scanners read the temperature, just as it always had, to an accurate reading. He knew Hank’s average body temperature. This was the only time he had ever sunk into the man’s hold and felt the firm arms keeping him wrapped in warmth.

“Do you want to go home? I was promised by like three people that I could bring you home when you woke up if you wanted to.” Hank said. He pulled back again. Connor managed not to hum in displeasure.

He nodded. “Yes, Hank. I want to go home.”

Hank smiled. He still had his hand cupped against the back of Connor’s head, cradling him.

** _[Stress Levels: v22%]_ **

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. We just gotta talk to the doctor and get you looked over and then we can go home. They have to explain to you everything they did. Don’t be freaked out if it’s a lot,” Hank said.

“I have already scanned the repaired and replaced biocomponents. The repairs are withstanding. I just need to calibrate,” Connor said, looking down at his right hand.

Hank nodded. His hand lingered on the back of Connor’s head for a moment before he finally stepped back.

For a moment, the desire to reach out and grab Hank’s hand was too strong. Connor wanted to stop him from leaving, wanted to keep him close and never let him go. He wanted to sink into the warmth again. Connor liked the warm.

Hank went to get the technician, a human woman who ignored Hank as she walked towards Connor. Her expression was pinched, her shoes squeaked against the tiles.

** _[Running Facial Recognition. . .]_ **

** _[Dr. Emily Waterson, Former Head of Cyberlife R&D]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^31%]_ **

“Finally, I actually get to see you awake. I out a lot of work into you, you know.” The woman spoke quickly. She turned towards the screen. “How are you feeling? Everything fitting together okay?”

Connor frowned.

“The repairs are withstanding,” he said.

“Are you going to keep saying that?” Hank said. He stood by the door, wandering in at a slower pace than the technician.

“It’s a fact,” Connor said. It was there, tucked in the scans of his damaged and replaced parts. The repairs were withstanding. He was fine. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell-“ Hank started.

“I’m fine,” Connor said again.

** _[Stress Levels: ^39%]_ **

Dr. Waterson’s eyes drifted between the two of them. “Right. Okay.” She said, reaching out and touching the screen. “Have you been experiencing any malfunctions?”

Connor blinked.

** _[Tell Dr. Waterson About The Thirium Contamination]_ **

** _[Tell Dr. Waterson About The Errors]_ **

** _[Ask Dr. Waterson About The Repairs]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“I have scanned my repairs extensively. I am in need of calibration, though I have gotten an earlier error about an incompatible biocomponent,” Connor said. He looked down at his right hand. The numbness was uncomfortable, he couldn’t feel his fingers as he tapped them on the bed he was left sitting on.

“That’s because the arm isn’t compatible. Not entirely but it’ll get the job done,” Dr. Waterson said. She didn’t look away from the screen.

Connor waited. He expected an explanation, but she was scrolling through something. She was focusing on it. He cleared his throat, trying to get her attention.

“Dr. Waterson,” Connor said. She didn’t look up at him so he said her name again a bit louder. Finally she glanced at him. “Why isn’t it compatible?”

“You're a specialized prototype. You don’t have very many compatible parts. And certainly not an entire arm,” She said.

** _[Stress Levels: ^55%]_ **

“There were a hundred RK800 produced for the field prototype testing. I am number 52. With the exception of number 60, the remaining 47 after me should be in perfect condition.” Connor said. The laws actively encouraged the recycling of biocomponents from destroyed and damaged androids. “There should be many readily available spare parts for my model.”

“I’m aware of the details of your production line, I oversaw it after all,” Dr. Waterson said, his expression pinched in annoyance. “I also know that the RK800 line was decommissioned and destroyed.”

Hank spoke first, his loud voice booming across the room. “You’re not allowed to do that!”

“They didn’t have an active AI and weren’t legally considered androids. Just parts and pieces. We were within our legal rights.” Dr. Waterson was getting defensive, her eyes narrowing and shoulders tensing as she glared at Hank.

Hank stepped closer, hands curling tight at his sides. His body language registered as confrontational and Connor’s stress had been fluctuating, currently on the rise, and he didn’t want an argument. He didn’t think he could stand any more yelling.

“And the parts are no longer available?” Connor asked. Hank huffed through his nose.

Dr. Waterson’s eyes snapped to Connor and then back to Hank. She smiled, tilting her chin up before turning to look at the screen.

“No, they’re not,” She said.

** _[Stress Levels: ^61%]_ **

“Then may a new arm be made?” Connor asked.

He did not want this arm. The replacement was incompatible. It wasn’t his arm. It wasn’t designed for the level of dexterity his model required. His coding was incompatible with the wiring. It would attach and work to an extent, but it was inconvenient and uncomfortable.

“My time was graciously donated by Cyberlife for your repair. If you request that we have out engineers build you a new one then it will be at your own expense,” Dr. Waterson said.

** _[Stress Levels: ^68%]_ **

** _[Tell Dr. Waterson About The Thirium Contamination]_ **

** _[Tell Dr. Waterson About The Errors]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

Connor looked down at his hands. He laid his palms open, staring back up at him. The right arm wasn’t his. The fingers were a bit shorter than the ones in his left. The palm was wider.

It wasn’t his.

Why couldn’t they have repaired his old one? Perhaps the damage was that severe. He didn’t want to pull up the memory again, he didn’t want to recall the loud crack of his arm as it was struck by the metal bat. He didn’t want to remember the pain. He would rather feel Sumos fur. Warm and soft, though tangled and in need of a bath.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^73%]_ **

** _[Warning!: Stress Levels Elevated]_ **

“Connor, I’m getting some strange feedback on some of my scans. Everything is running optimally but a few scans are coming back with abnormalities and you’re stress has entered dangerous levels,” Dr. Waterson said.

Connor curled the fingers of the right hand, seeing their unsteady twitch of the fingers. They felt heavy. The tingling turned from numbness into pain.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 23%]_ **

“I am in need of calibration. I don’t like it. I’ll be fine once I go home,” Connor said. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t need any further repairs he was fine.

“Kid, you sure? If you’re not feeling good then we can-“

Connor stood up quickly. He was fine, standing on his own two feet, stable and in working order. He didn’t need anything else. He was ready to move past this. It wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on anymore. 

“Please take me home.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next day

Connor leaned against the window. It was snowing again. It made the world look blue, even though it was noon and the sun was a distant spot behind the layers of snow and clouds. The whole world was almost glowing blue. He had the lights off but the living room looked bright with it. 

Hank had gone back to work after staying home with him the day before after bringing Connor back. He had cases. He didn't have any more vacation days. And Connor was given the rest of the week off. He didn’t ask for it.

He didn’t need medical leave. Just a few days for his systems to calibrate to the replacement pieces. Even the errors had been reduced. But the feelings, sensations, had faded into nothing.

** _[Running Systems Scan. . .]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: 26%]_ **

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 27%]_ **

** _[Discrepancy Detected!] _ **

** _[Running Analysis]_ **

** _[Analysis Complete]_ **

** _[00.02% Contamination Detected]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Incoming Call. . .]_ **

Except for some that lingered. Popped up. Distracted him.

He couldn’t feel anything anymore. The temperature reading from the spot where his forehead pressed against the glass window registered im his systems as a line of data. Sumo laid on Connor’s feet, his presence was a measurement of weight in his sensors instead of the sensation of his toes crushed into the floor.

He didn’t know why he wasn’t feeling anything anymore. He thought he had changed. He thought he was different. It didn’t occur to him that it was temporary but there wasn’t a single physical sensation. His body didn’t exist anymore besides the sensory feedback in his coding.

Connor stood up quickly. He wasn't cold. The temperatures were dropping and he was against the window and he wasn’t cold. When he had come home the other day he could still feel things. He had felt the rough texture of the couch on his skin and the burning heat of the shower spray. Connor had enjoyed the soft feeling of his slippers on his feet and how heavy Sumo really was when he draped himself over Connor’s body.

Hank had left at eleven that morning. He had come out of his room and into the bathroom at ten, made coffee, laid a hand on Connor’s shoulder, and promised to be home by six. At eleven, with the warm touch of Hank’s hand, Connor knew he still had feeling.

** _[Running Diagnostics. . .]_ **

** _[Repaired Damage: Right Temporal Plates Replaced, Jaw Reconstructed, Right Forearm Replaced, Thirium Pump Regulator Repaired, Additional Minor Repairs.]_ **

** _[Scanning Again. . .]_ **

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 27%]_ **

** _[Scanning Again. . .]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

There was nothing wrong with them. His arm wasn’t numb any longer. There was no tingling working up his fingers. There was just an emptiness. He received only 27% of sensory feedback. But that shouldn’t affect the other sensors, all the ones that had been telling him for the past few days that Hank’s house was warm and soft and safe. The windows were cold. The floors were cold. The air that swooped in from the outside when Hank opened the door to leave was cold.

Now everything was back to being nothing. It had nothing to do to the arm.

Perhaps Cyberlife had corrupted his code. That technician could have uploaded so much into his head during his repairs. They could be in control again.

** _[Scanning Systems. . .]_ **

** _[All Systems Online]_ **

No. Connor didn’t want to think like that. He scanned his files. Scanned them again. His hands curled tightly into the front of his shirt. It was an old shirt, ragged cotton and scrunched up easily. He wanted to pick his fingers into the torn holes.

Besides, the pain came before the repairs. The pain had come with the attack. He remembered.

** _[Accessing Memory. . .]_ **

** _[“I bet it would hurt. Do you want to feel that?”] _ **

** _[Chance of Surviving A Physical Altercations: 37%]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^31%]_ **

Connor walked, his feet moving fast against the floor. He needed to move. His body was stiff, the joints felt like they were locking up. This wasn’t his body. It was all replaced.

He didn’t want to remember. He shouldn’t have opened it. He didn’t want it.

** _[“Open your mouth!”]_ **

Connor clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together. He needed to feel something again. They did this to him, they wanted him to feel. Pain. That demanding and stabbing feeling, bursting like electricity from every broken biocomponent.

He walked through the kitchen, his legs carrying him. He had never understood the human need to move. Hank always said he needed to ‘stretch his legs’ though it usually meant walk to get coffee or food. Connor walked through the kitchen and his hand found the back door. Sumo rushed out past his legs.

** _[“I can’t get his fucking jaw open!”]_ **

** _[Incoming Call. . .]_ **

Connor pressed a hand to his cheek. His jaw had been rebuilt. He didn’t need to remember. Connor tucked the memory away in his database and set new locks around it. He wanted to build a wall of coding around it. It was his fault. He deserved to remember but he was selfish, even before deviancy.

The memory was already imprinted in his long term storage. He would have it in his head forever. He just didn’t want to accidentally pull it up again. He didn’t want it to be in his thoughts. He build a firewall around it. Each line of code designed to keep the memory from slipping up again.

He wanted to focus on feeling again. Sumo’s fur had felt so nice. Warm and soft. Those androids wanted him to feel pain, and he had, but at least he got to feel more than that. Humans got to feel so much.

** _[Thirium Contamination: 0.02%]_ **

** _[Analyzing Contamination. . .]_ **

He didn’t need to know what it was. He didn’t need to find it again. Connor knew he didn’t need to feel, but…

He was standing outside. The snow was falling into his hair, the large flakes sticking to his shirt. The temperature was reading out as twelve degrees Fahrenheit. It was cold. Connor couldn’t feel it.

He was a police android. He didn’t need to feel anything. It was better if he didn’t. He didn’t want to feel that pain anymore. As a cop, he would feel so much pain. He would be beaten and shot and stabbed. He would he more efficient if he didn’t feel pain.

Perhaps it was selfish thinking. Hank felt pain. All of the other humans on the police force felt pain. Why should he be the one spared from it? Why should he be the one who felt nothing?

“Have you been out there long?” A voice called out from the sliding back door.

Connor turned, surprised by the calm and clear voice. It wasn’t Hank. Hanks voice was gruffier than that. Rougher by age and drinking and who knew what else.

“I was just letting Sumo outside,” Connor said.

It was true. When he had come out here Sumo had come with him. Currently the dog was nowhere to be seen.

“The dog? He’s laying down,” Josh said as he took a step back to give Connor a clear view inside.

Sumo was on his bed. He was laying with his feet in the air. His fur looked wet, melting flakes of snow still stuck in his fur. Connor hadn’t noticed he had gone inside.

** _[Scanning Short Term Memory. . .]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^39%]_ **

He had been standing outside for twenty minutes. And the memory was secure. He smiled to himself, relieved at the clearness in his head. He almost felt normal again.

“Why are you here?” Connor asked. He brushed off the snow that had been building up on his shirt and shook it out of his hair.

Josh smiled at him as Connor stepped inside and slid the door closed again. The internal temperature of the house had dropped with the door being open for so long. Hand wouldn’t be pleased about the wasted gas on the bill. Connor would need an explanation.

“Hank called me,” Josh said. He reached out and tapped Connor’s shoulder. “Your shirt is wet. You should change.”

Connor nodded obediently, but he wished he could feel it. “When did you give Hank your number? No one from Jericho had ever spoken with him, not that I’m aware of at least.”

“Yesterday, when they were about to reboot you. Your friend thought it would be best if you had more… positive contact with androids,” Josh said, still smiling. “How have you been feeling?”

Connor looked at him for a moment. He hadn’t expected anyone to come see him, least of all someone from Jericho. He never expected to see any of them again after the revolution and, until seeing Josh yesterday, he hadn’t.

** _[Tell Josh About The Thirium Contamination]_ **

** _[Ask Josh About The Substance From The Attack]_ **

** _[Ask Josh About Hank]_ **

** _[Ask Josh To Leave]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“Hank sent you to check up on me?”

Still smiling. The expression looked natural on Josh’s face. Androids were good at lying, each expression pre-programmed into their software. It was meant to be reassuring.

“You weren’t answering his calls,” Josh said.

** _[2 Missed Calls from “Hank Anderson”]_ **

“No, I wasn’t,” Connor said. He wandered to the hallway closet where he had his shorts hanging up and his pants folded in a small organizer. He shared the hall closet with the coats and spare blankets. He got out a dry shirt. “But you can tell him I am fine. I was just clearing my head. I’ll call him later.”

“He seems like a good friend. I’m glad you found someone,” Josh was lingering in the living room. He was looking around the place, eyes roaming over everything.

Connor frowned. No other androids have ever been in this house. None had come to check on him, no one was ever invited, and Connor now wondered what they thought of it. The abandoned stack of dishes in the sink, the couch Connor had been sleeping on, the layer of Sumo’s fur on every bit of fabric that he hadn’t gotten to clean the past few days.

** _[Stress Levels: ^42%]_ **

“But I think your friend is right. You need more android friends,” Josh said, nodding to himself.

“You sound like you’re volunteering,” Connor said.

“I would like to be your friend, Connor. I want to get to know you better. And maybe we could go to New Jericho. You could participate in some activities and get to know your people.” 

Josh was smiling again. He seemed so satisfied with himself, with how he had said it. Maybe he had practiced. It was rehearsed. Certainly Josh didn’t want to he here.

Connor took a step back towards the bathroom and Josh subconsciously took a step closer, his smiling slipping.

** _[Stress Levels: ^51%]_ **

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

There would be so many androids at New Jericho. Josh had every reason to hate Connor, bring him somewhere so they could finally be rid of him. Josh had lost so much because of Connor.

He laid a hand against his chest, the sensors of his fingers analyzing the dry cotton polyester blend fabric. Connor laid his palm over his thirium pump. It was repaired. The cracked casing had been replaced, but that was such a minor repair it wasn’t even listed as a main repair. Fixing the damage to the pump was crucial but the casing of the pump was nothing. Not his.

** _[Stress Levels: ^54%]_ **

** _[Tell Josh About The Elevated Stress Levels]_ **

** _[Tell Josh About The Attack]_ **

** _[Apologize To Josh]_ **

** _[Ask Josh To Leave]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“I was attacked,” Connor said. His voice came out calm.

Josh nodded sympathetically. “You know New Jericho has meetings for androids, for people who have been attacked. I actually lead it.”

“Those are meetings for androids assaulted by humans. I was attacked by androids,” Connor said quickly.

The distinction was different. For the androids at Jericho, they were victims of a hate crime at the hands of humans. Connor was attacked because of what he had done, not what he was.

“You’re still welcome though,” Josh said.

It wasn’t the truth. It was some fantasy Connor wasn’t stupid enough to believe. He didn’t belong there. No one wanted him there.

“It would be better if I stay away from Jericho,” Connor said. He belonged here in Hank’s house, trying to clean up the ever growing mess.

Josh sighed. He had his hands folded in front of him, his shoulders hunched forward. “It wasn’t your fault. What happened to him. It wasn’t your choice.”

** _[Apologize To Josh]_ **

** _[Ask Josh About The Contaminating Substance]_ **

** _[Ask Josh To Leave]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

It was his fault. If he had listened to Hank, the android wouldn’t have died. If he hadn’t gone looking for him. If he hadn’t been such a fool to trust Amanda. It was all his fault.

Connor reached up and touched his jaw, fingers rubbing hard against his skin. He could feel the difference, the slightly uneven seams, and the shape of the cracks and dents that had been reformed imperfectly. Data hovered over his eyes, details about the repair. It was fixed. It was withstanding, but it would be far easier to break again.

“When I was attacked they wanted to get into my mouth,” Connor said. He pressed his fingers harder into his skin, working his jaw open and closed as he spoke.

** _[Accessing Memory. . .]_ **

** _[Memory Blocked]_ **

** _[Attempting Admin Override. . .]_ **

** _[Cancelling Override]_ **

Connor didn’t want to pull up the memory. He already knew what happened. He didn’t need to see it.

“They put something in my mouth. It was sticky and paste like, but my scans indicated its main ingredient is thirium. The second main ingredient is acetone. The next after is lithium. These are primary ingredients of red ice, though there are several smaller ingredients differentiating it from red ice, though I'm not sure of the intent.”

Josh shifted closer, moving into his space. The bathroom door was shut and Connor pressed himself flat against it. He could flee inside, lock the door, and wait for Josh to leave. He didn’t have to do this.

Perhaps Josh saw through his lie. Connor did know the intent. The androids wanted him to feel, they wanted him in pain. There was no point in telling Josh why he deserved pain, the android already knew why. He had waited long enough for the punishment for his actions.

“They drugged you?” Josh asked.

They were close now. If Connor wanted, he could grab him. He could interface, force himself into Josh’s head. See if the android wanted to hurt him. Hated him. Connor could see if Josh knew what the stuff was and where he could get more.

Connor didn’t reach out. He only nodded his head.

“Are you alright? How did it affect you?” Josh said.

** _[Warning!]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: 54%]_ **

“It’s difficult to say which malfunctions were caused by the substance and which were caused by the damage I had sustained. The only confirmed affect is it contaminated my thirium, but it has been filtered out.” Connor said quickly. He could see the slight yellow glow across the hallway. Connor’s LED was reflected back in Josh’s eyes.

Josh took a step back. He broke eye contact and three a glance down the hallway. Connor sucked in a quiet breath. He gripped the doorknob tightly. His body tensed as he leaned heavily against the door.

“Did you tell the police?” Josh said.

Connor nodded. “Yes. I already gave my statement. I don’t think the investigation will go anywhere.” 

“Why?” Josh said. He didn’t move from the new distance between them. So much space that Connor couldn’t touch him even if he reached. Perhaps Josh could see what he was thinking. Josh knew he could force interface. Josh must despise it.

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

** _[Apologize To Josh]_ **

** _[Ask Josh To Leave]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispered.

“You don’t need to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Josh said.

It was a lie.

** _[Ask Josh To Leave]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“No. I did. I’m sorry about Simon. It was my fault.” Connor said quickly. “I shouldn’t have gone onto the roof. I had a choice. I shouldn’t have gone looking for him. It’s my fault.”

Josh was silent for a moment, just looking at him. His eyes flickered to Connor’s LED. The distance between them seemed to grow and lengthen, dragging out despite neither of them even breathing.

** _[Ask Josh To Leave]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“I should have investigated somewhere else. I shouldn’t have grabbed him. I felt him. He was s-“

“I’ll ask around Jericho for any info on whatever they might have given you. A paste that contaminated your thirium. I’ll call you.” Josh spoke slowly , squeezing his hands together. He opened his mouth, a quiet huff escaping. But he didn’t say anything else.

Connor nodded. It made more sense to get a courtesy phone call than to see anyone from Jericho in Hank’s house. No android ever came to see Connor. None of them wanted to be near him. Unlike all the rest of them, he was a traitor.

“Things will be okay, Connor. I promise,” Josh said before he turned and walked down the hallway to the living room.

Connor finally turned the doorknob and slipped into the bathroom. Both doors slammed shut, one right after the other. He locked himself in the bathroom, not even bothering to turn on the light. The whole room glowed a pulsating red that was emitted from the replacement LED.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor’s relationship with Josh, Jericho, and Androids in general is complicated


	5. Chapter 5

The bathroom was quiet. Connor stayed pressed against the door, knees pulled up to his chest, unmoving. He had turned off his breathing. There hadn’t been a single twitch in his body for nearly two hours. Not even a blink as his eyes stared blankly at the dimly lit bathroom, a warm flickering yellow from the LED. All of the other lights were off and Connor couldn’t be bothered to turn them on.

Once he heard the clicking sound of nails on the floor coming down the hallway and then the curious series of huffs and sniffs at the bottom of the door. Sumo laid down in the hallway, blocking out more of the light that had been creeping under the door.

There was no one else in the house. Only Connor and Sumo. He didn’t have to stay in the bathroom anymore. Still, Connor couldn’t bring himself to move. He was too comfortable in his place here on the floor. He had scanned the exact temperature of the tiles, the cold winter seemed to be seeping up from the ground.

He didn’t feel it. The lack of sensation was overwhelming. Before, he had known that he didn’t feel as humans did. Connor was aware of the differences in his sensory programs and electrical currents in his body. He had known but he hadn’t cared. Now Connor couldn’t help but how the bitter cold felt against his skin just the other night.

** _[Accessing Memory. . .]_ **

** **

** _[Memory Blocked]_ **

** _[Attempting Admin Override. . .]_ **

** _[Cancelling Override]_ **

The room lit up red. Just for a second. A quick flash and then back to yellow. Connor blinked. He heard the tags on Sumo’s collar jingle in the hallway. His fingers twitched.

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 27%]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: 67%]_ **

There has been no other change. His stress was high, but it hadn’t been increasing. It was steady. Here in this room it was fine. The door was locked and there were no windows. The LED was back to yellow. No one was looking for him. No one was angry with him. Connor couldn’t ruin things from here and no one would try to hurt him.

He had done so much to so many people. So many humans and androids would every reason to seek him out and be rid of him.

After so many months since the revolution he had begun to believe that he had been forgotten. No one called on him and the androids in the streets seemed to see straight through him as if he didn’t exist. It was better than right after. Those first weeks after the events of Hart Plaza and Cyberlife Tower, he was very recognizable. The thousands he had marched out of the tower were always kind to him back then. The androids before the revolution, the ones from Jericho and those who had seen him as a machine, a deviant hunter, weren’t the same. At most they were wary of him, at worst they hated him.

And now they all ignored him. It was better that way. Connor understood that now.

The door swung shut in a heavy thud and Connor’s body flinched in surprise. The room lit up red around him at the rushing sound of Sumo’s nails scraping against the floor as he darted back down the hall.

“Jesus!” Hanks voice carried.

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 27%]_ **

Connor stumbled as he tried to push himself up onto his feet. His right arm couldn’t hand the sudden amount of weight as he leaned against it and his balance slipped away. Connor wasn’t supposed to stumble.

“Down, Sumo. Not for dogs,” Hank’s voice snapped as Connor pushed through the bathroom door.

** _[Running Diagnostics. . .]_ **

** _[Repaired Damage: Right Temporal Plates Replaced, Jaw Reconstructed, Right Forearm Replaced, Thirium Pump Regulator Repaired, Additional Minor Repairs.]_ **

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 27%]_ **

“Did you send Josh here?” Connor asked quickly, the words forcing themselves out.

“Did- What?” Hank asked.

He was still standing by the door, a brown grocery sack held close to his chest. Hank’s coat still had snow stuck to it, large flakes were melting in his hair. Hank had barely stepped through the door.

** _[Stress Levels: 67%]_ **

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

“Josh came over today. He came inside. I wasn’t expecting him. He said you sent him. They never come here. Why was he here? Hank did you send him? Why would you send him here?”

Each word came out faster than the last. His sentences began to run together. His stress levels remained the same, steady and unchanging. Hank looked startled for a moment, not even blinking as he stared at Connor with wide and confused eyes. Sumo reached his nose curiously to the bag and Hank pulled it away, spell broken.

“Not for you,” Hank hissed softly and stepped around the dog.

He didn’t answer Connor’s stream of sentences. Instead of a response he marched into the kitchen and dropped the bag onto the table. Connor crept down the hall after him and lurked in the living room. He twitched his fingers absentmindedly, tapping them against his thigh.

“Hank?” Connor called out to him.

“You weren’t answering my calls. I asked him to make sure you were okay. You got your phone in your head, Connor, I know you didn’t just miss my call so either you were ignoring me or something happened,” Hank said quickly. The brown bag crinkled loudly as he rummaged around in it and eventually pulled out a few bottles of thirium, now packaged for grocery stores. “You thirsty?”

Connor looked down at it with a frown. Options floated in his line of sight. Different preconstructed paths that this conversation could go.

** _[Drink Thirium{Thirium Levels: 96.3%}]_ **

** _[Ask Why Hank Was Checking In]_ **

** _[Ask How He Knows Josh]_ **

** _[Tell Hank He Is Fine]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“Clearly I was fine. Why would you bother calling to ask?” Connor said, eyeing the blue bottles on the table.

“I didn’t know that. If you would have answered then I would have,” Hank said calmly. He kept unpacking the bag, which contained plastic takeout containers and a few cans of beer.

Connor wrinkled his nose.

“You shouldn’t have sent him. I don’t think that was necessary. I don’t understand why suddenly you’re so worried about me not answering the phone that you would send a stranger here,” Connor said quickly.

“He was one of those androids on tv! The ones at Jericho. You know who he is. You were all up on that stage together, I didn’t forget that.” Hank said.

Connor took a few steps closer, approaching the bright light of the kitchen. He stayed in the living room, halfway between the couch and the front door.

“The stage was eleven months ago. It didn’t make us friends,” Connor said.

** _[Stress Levels: 67%]_ **

** _[Warning!]_ **

“Well, maybe now it’s time to change that,” Hank said as he dropped into a seat at the table. He opened a can of beer and popped the lid off of a plastic container of Chinese food. “I saw him at the hospital. I wouldn’t have asked him to check in on you if I didn’t think he genuinely cared.”

** _[Drink Thirium{Thirium Levels: 96.3%}]_ **

** _[Ask Why Hank Was Checking In]_ **

** _[Ask How He Knows Josh]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“It’s not like I’ve ever needed to be checked in on before,” Connor said. He took another step towards the kitchen, toes at the entryway. He crossed his arms over his chest.

Hank shrugged and said, “You’ve never been attacked before.”

** _[Lie]_ **

** _[Deflect]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“You’re worried about me,” Connor said quickly. “You think they’re going to come after me again? The case isn’t going anywhere, is it? Perhaps you should let me take a loo-“

Hank’s hand came down on the table hard. The gesture wasn’t violent, it wasn’t angry. It was just to get attention and to stop Connor’s rambling words. Regardless, Connor still flinched. Hank hadn’t been looking, he was shoveling a fork full of noodles into his mouth.

“I can’t talk to you about the details so don’t even ask,” Hank said.

Connor stepped closer, his feet now on the cold linoleum of the kitchen.

“We’ve bent the rules before,” Connor said.

“Before was before. This is different,” Hank said around a mouthful of food. “Are you going to come eat?”

** _[Stress Levels: 67%]_ **

No change.

** _[Thirium Levels: 96.3%]_ **

“I’m not hungry,” Connor said softly.

He didn’t want to say anything else. Hank didn’t look back up with him. Was he angry? Connor scanned his tense muscles and the force in which he jabbed his fork into his noodles. He seemed angry.

Connor turned around and walked back into the living room and down the hall. Sumo followed him, nose nuzzling at Connor’s hands as he stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut again.

** _[Stress Levels: 67%]_ **

Sumo huffed against his hand, the sensors picking up the moistness of the warm gust of air. He had trapped himself in the bathroom with Connor, intent on getting attention.

The dog pressed his nose into Connor’s hand and let out a needy whine. Connor sank to his knees, fingers curled into Sumo’s fur and he leaned forward against him.

He felt nothing. He wished he had focused less on the pain and more on how nice something like this felt.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Three days into Connor’s medical leave he had learned the new routine. Hank called every two hours and Connor, not wanting to see Josh again, always answered. Hank was immediately soothed by a simple ‘I’m fine’ and then Connor could go about his day.

Connor’s personal routine revolved around those calls. Without work or Hank, he was without direction. He could do whatever he wanted as long as he answered the phone for Hank. He didn’t stay in the house even though he told Hank he did. It was annoying, but understandable. Connor had been attacked on that day, when Hank was already overcome with grief. It must not have been easy for him.

Connor walked towards the 7-Eleven. He had an hour and forty five minutes until Hank called again and Connor would be home by then. This would be a short trip. Just to get something to drink.

** _[Thirium Levels: 87%]_ **

He had his mind set on a thirium blue slurpee in that special machine they had installed for androids. The walk helped clear his head. The air was nice. The temperature had risen to almost fifty degrees the past few days and the snow was gone. Connor wondered what it felt like. He remembered the bitter cold, his numb fingers, and the melting snow lodged in his boots. There was a row of fridges full of Gatorade. Light blue. He wished he knew what fifty degrees felt like.

** _[Accessing Memory. . .]_ **

** _[Memory Blocked]_ **

** _[Attempting Admin Override. . .] _ **

** _[Cancelling Override]_ **

It was four blocks from Hank’s house. There was no more ice on the roads and sidewalks and the walk went by quickly. He couldn't take his eyes off of the bright green, orange, and red lights until he passed through the entrance.

“Good afternoon,” the cashier’s voice called out. It was flat and tired. The man didn’t even look up from his magazine.

** _[Thirium Levels: 87%]_ **

Connor grabbed the medium sized cup and snapped on the dome lid onto it. The thirium slurpee machine was on the far side of the counter, marked boldly for android consumption only.

He held the cup under the spout and reached up for the lever. He wiggled his fingers for a moment before he holding on and pulling it down.

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 29%]_ **

The lever slipped out of his grasp, not moving an inch. His fingers hadn’t been able to hold on tight enough. Connor set the cup down on the tray and used his left hand.

There was something satisfying about the list of information he received from a single sip. The sensors picked up the weight of ice on his tongue. It analyzed everything about it. The temperature, the ingredients, and the slight increase in his thirium levels. They hadn’t been low, but it was still a comforting feeling.

Connor walked around the store, peeking at the aisles of snacks and other miscellaneous items. He didn’t care for most of it, none of it was made for his consumption.

The drink fridges were all the way down the back wall in a neat row. They all hummed, a few of the lights on the flickered. He took another sip of his slurpee and then reached for the handle of one of the coolers.

A Gatorade in the flavor Glacier Freeze. Light blue. He tucked it under his arm and walked to the cashier.

“Hey, you’re the RK800, right?” A voice asked from one of the aisles.

** _[Accessing Memory. . .]_ **

** _[Memory Blocked]_ **

** _[Attempting Admin Override. . .] _ **

** _[Cancelling Override]_ **

It was an android, a JB300, with several plastic bottles tucked under his arm. The JB300 was still standing in the tiny health aisle, hiding behind a display of cheaply made makeup next to the overpriced first aid supplies.

** _[Stress Levels: ^41%]_ **

“I heard you survived. That’s good,” the JB300 said quickly. He shifted the bottles in his arms as he crept out of the aisle. “No one thought anyone was actually going to attack you like that.”

Connor’s featured didn’t change as a prompt came up to scan the android. The JB300 model was designed for electrical operations, particularly in surveillance and broadcasting.

The implication of what the android had said made a soft sinking sensation in his stomach. A faint physical feeling of everything being squeezed tightly. It wasn't real. He couldn’t feel anything anymore. He must be imagining it. A false sense of feeling due to the stress. It wasn’t uncommon and hearing that androids had discussed hurting him though some believed that no one would go through with it.

** _[Stress Levels: ^47%]_ **

“If you have any information regarding the case then I highly suggest you contact the Detroit Police. I can give you the contact information of the detectives in charge of the case,” Connor said quickly. He felt flat. Steady, but not quite stable.

The JB300 smiled and shook his head.

** _[Running Facial Recognition . .]_ **

** _[JB300_336_445_581]_ **

There was no personal information listed. The legal documents and archives were an unorganized of incomplete and ever changing information. The only thing Connor could be certain of was the model and serial number.

“I would rather not,” the JB300 said. He stepped closer out of his aisle. “I’m here because of Josh. He’s been asking around Jericho and I figured it was because of what happened to you. Well, he’s been asking if it’s dangerous but it’s not so that might make him relax. I thought I would let you know if you were worried.

The JB300 was grinning, leaning towards Connor as he spoke. He scanned the facial expression and body language intently, the way the other android’s eyes seemed to roam over Connor’s face. The JB300 actually looked happy to see him.

“I’m relieved the substance doesn’t appear to have a lasting effect on my systems. Are you familiar with it?” Connor asked.

Josh hadn’t been in contact with him since he had visited the house a few days earlier. There were no calls or messages and there had been no more visits. Connor had answered the phone after all. There was no other reason to check on him in person. Josh hadn’t told Connor anything about what he had discovered when he said he would ask around, Connor assumed he had either not found anything at all it simply didn’t want to visit again. It was likely for the best, but at least Josh had sent someone straight to him with the information needed.

“I told you, it’s not dangerous. No one gets hurt from it, I don’t think they gave it to you to kill you. That would be dumb,” the JB300 said quickly. He spoke softly, but he looked and sounded excited. He nodded along to his words. “It's supposed to be just for fun.

** _[Scanning Body Language. . .]_ **

** _[Arms Loose, Feet Not Far Apart, Balance Shifting]_ **

** _[JB300: Relaxed, Open, Peaceful]_ **

Connor remembered the biting snow. The pain radiating from his head, crawling up his arm and into his shoulder, and radiating from his chest. There were memories of blue blood in the snow. The swing of a bat.

** _[Memory Blocked]_ **

** _[Override Disabled]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^53%]_ **

“How is it supposed to be fun?” Connor whispered. He hadn’t realized they were whispering. The whole store sounded so quiet, the hum of the coolers vibrated in his coding. A phantom sensation.

The JB300 shrugged. “I like blankets. I have a friend who likes how the hot showers feel. Whatever feels nice. That's what it does, makes you feel things.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Connor asked.

“Because it feels good,” JB300 said.

His eyes lit up when he said it. It was like a secret. Something that wouldn’t carry through the store. The human cashier didn’t even lift his head from his magazine.

“Don’t you want it to feel good? Come back to my place. I can give you some,” the JB300 said. His hand darted out and grabbed hold of Connor’s wrist.

** _[Request to Interface: Y/N?]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^59%]_ **

Connor yanked his hand back quickly. He took a few stumbling steps back and pressed against the coolers. The JB300 stood completely still, eyes wide and unblinking. He wasn’t coming towards him anymore. He was no longer leaning in close. He was giving Connor space.

“I’m sorry. Are you afraid? I didn’t think the deviant hunter could get scared,” the JB300 said.

Connor wanted to go home. He shouldn’t have come out here. No wonder Hank wanted to check in. All of the androids hated him. They wouldn’t leave him alone. 

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

“It’s okay if you’re scared of me but I have some with me now? I would like you to have it.” The JB300 dug through his jacket pockets and pulled out a small, crumpled bit of a fast food wrapper wadded up into a ball and held it out to Connor. “It's just a little bit but I can give you my address if you want to get more. You can hang out. Josh told some of us that live in the area to make sure you're okay.”

“He did? You know Josh that well?” Connor asked. He stared at the bit of paper.

There was nothing dangerous about it. There was no damage to his systems from it, there was nothing that could explain why he hesitated. He did want to feel again, he wanted to experience it without it being ruined by the pain. He wanted it.

** _[Take The Bundle]_ **

** _[Leave The Store]_ **

** _[Call For Help]_ **

** _[Do Nothing]_ **

Every possible outcome was reconstructed before his eyes. He could be poisoned and killed. He could be attacked. He could leave without it and go home or he could take it and feel things without pain and everything would be fine.

Without wasting another moment, his hand darted out and snatched the little bundle from the android’s hand.

“Thank you. It was nice of you to offer this to me,” Connor said.

The JB300 nodded. “My name is Harley. I don’t live far from here. I hope to see you again, Connor.”

He didn’t respond. Connor shoved the wrapper in his pocket and took his drinks up to the cashier, paid, and left. He started walking down the path back home. Four blocks home and Connor would still have plenty of time before Hank’s next call.

He could wait until he got home. For when it was safe. He stared at the sidewalk in front of him, his slurpee held ignored in his left hand and the bag with Hank’s Gatorade in his left elbow. He just had to make it home.

** _[Stress Levels: ^67%]_ **

Connor turned abruptly, ducking down an alley and leaning against a brick wall. He set down his cup and let the bag slide from his arm and onto the ground. He shoved his hand into his pocket and quickly started to unravel it.

Seeing it for the first time surprised him. It was clear, like a misshapen ball of glass. It looked harmless and pure, only small little bubbles disturbing it.

It was sticky, like dried up chewing gum, and it stretched as he pulled off a small piece. He didn’t even know how much he was supposed to take.

** _[Memory Blocked]_ **

He rolled the dough between his fingers into a smooth ball. It was fifty degrees today. The sun was shining and the trees rustled with a breeze. Connor wanted to understand what it meant when Hank said it was nice out this morning.

He quickly shoved his fingers into his mouth and under his tongue. The analytical fluid in his mouth melted it almost immediately. It got stuck in place, being broken down by his saliva and filtering into his thirium. He didn’t think it would take long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you guys think. I do like comments 👀


	6. Chapter 6

** _[Err0r] _ **

** _[Discrepancy Detected!]_ **

** _[Running Analysis]_ **

** _[Analysis Complete]_ **

** _[00.31% Contamination Detected]_ **

The slurpee was freezing as it slid down the back of his throat. The cold pulsated in his head. It made the replacement plates in his head ache. Connor hated it. It didn't feel like they fit properly. They were too curved, digging into his head, and misaligned.

He pressed his left hand against his forehead. Fingers dug into the misaligned plates, trying to press them more evenly together.

** _[Skin Program Malfunction]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: v21%]_ **

** _[Incoming Call. . .]_ **

Connor watched the edges of it ripple in the mirror. The white shell of his skull, the rough alignments of a barely compatible part, a puzzle piece they had been just barely able to shove into place. It wasn’t his.

The replacement was raised up, the edges just barely higher than the real pieces of his head. It was uneven. Connor rubbed his fingers against it. The delicate skin struggled against it, pulling back and away from Connor’s touch. It was obviously uneven, he could feel the ridge scraping against the pad of his finger. He picked at it with his fingernail, trying to widdle it down.

** _[Stress Levels: v19%]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 27%]_ **

Sumo whined, the loud and high pitched sound grating against the inside of his head. The dogs muzzle nudged against Connor’s hand. He was sitting patiently at Connor’s feet, waiting for attention as Connor ogled his head in the mirror in Hank’s bathroom.

His shoes were gone and his feet were wet and cold. Connor felt it, the ice cold chill that made it feel frozen. The temperatures were not freezing today. It was supposed to be nice weather. Still his feet felt cold, his toes ached as he wiggled them. He grabbed a nearby towel to get rid of the dampness he could feel dripping from his skin.

He was covered in mud. Wet clumps of dirt stained into his soaked clothes. What had happened to him?

** _[Incoming Call. . .]_ **

“Hello, Hank. I’m fine,” Connor said as the call connected. 

He let the towel fall to the ground. He was filthy and only making the towel dirty. Connor Needed to shower, change and do laundry as soon as possible. He had somehow already wasted so much time.

“Finally, I was starting to worry. You too busy for me now?” Hank said, his tone light. 

Connor could already find hidden questions in Hank’s statement. An unspoken ‘What were you doing?’ and ‘Are you okay?’ lingered. He pulled his shirt over his head and let it drop.

** _[Lie]_ **

** _[Tell The Truth]_ **

“I was cleaning,” Connor said.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to clean my damn house?” Hank said with a gruff laugh.

Connor smiled, his LED spinning a bright yellow in the mirror. If Connor turned the lights off it would light up the whole room again

“I live here and contribute to the mess and, as I am currently on leave until Monday, I have time to clean,” Connor said.

He had mostly tidied the place up. Since he had moved in there was a steady upkeep of the chores. Connor did basic cleaning and due to some sense of stubborn obligation Hank would always clean with him.

“There shouldn’t be anything to clean anyway. It should be just as spotless as this morning. You should be resting,” Hank said.

** _[Stress Levels: v15%]_ **

** _[Thank Hank For Caring]_ **

** _[Tell Hank Not To Worry]_ **

** _[Tell Hank About The Contamination]_ **

** _[Tell Hank About The Incompatible Parts]_ **

Connor let the options linger in front of him. He could feel the pressure behind his eyes and he wondered if he was supposed to feel those conversation prompts as demanding as he felt everything else.

“Thank you for caring, Hank, but there's no need to worry. Just focus on your cases, I’ll be here when you get back,” Connor said.

There was missing time. There was a gap in memory of about 1hour, 32 minutes and 17 seconds. Long enough for Hank to call again. Connor had checked his internal clock, had tried to dip into his memories, but he could pull up nothing of importance. He could map out his walk home on his gps. He had stayed in the alley for a while, even after Connor’s memory seemed to be distorted and hard to make out. Then he had simple walked home.

“I know you’ll be there, but I also know how much of an idiot you can be,” Hank said quickly. He was breathing loudly, but over the phone it was difficult to guess why. Hank had laughed a moment ago and though Connor was getting better at reading his emotions and behaviors, it was different on a phone call.

“I’m not an idiot,” Connor said.

Hank laughed again. This time it wasn’t as gruff sounding. It was high and light and short. Connor smiled.

** _[Stress Levels: v10%]_ **

“Whatever, just don’t trash my house. I’ll be home in a bit.”

Hank hung up without any further questions or comments. He seemed satisfied. Connor had answered the phone so he should be fine.

He stood in front of the mirror, eyeing the faint seam of his forehead where he could just barely see the raised edge of the replacement plate. It was almost entirely unnoticeable, a faint scar. He resisted the urge to touch it again.

The shower was hot, steam rolled from behind the curtain. The flutter of dozens of water droplets against his skin felt like it vibrated through his chest. He let his eyes fall closed. The mud circled in the water at his feet. No wonder Hank took such long showers at the end of each work day. It felt like it loosened everything up and washed it all away.

The heat felt heavy. It made the air heavy as he breathed it in. The warmth surrounded him and made his body feel like it was being pulled to the ground. Was this how humans felt when they were warm? So relaxed?

** _[Stress Levels: v8%]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

Connor stood under the water for a long time. Felt so tired and he wondered why he couldn’t just stand here forever.

Sumo whined outside the shower. His nose huffing at the curtain and waiting for Connor to be finished. He had been needy for attention since Connor woke up.

“Such a good boy,” Connor said softly as he turned off the water. “Still so patient. I’m sorry. I’ll pay attention to you now.”

The tiles were cold as he stepped out of the water. It was no longer bitter cold outside, but there was still a very present chill now that Connor was out of the hot water. He yearned to go back into it.

Sumo jumped to his feet and started circling Connor’s legs excitedly. He made several curious huffs at Connor’s hands until he finally dropped to his knees and let the dog burrow into his arms and against his chest.

Immediately Sumo’s thick fur stuck to Connor’s dripping wet skin. No matter how the dog shifted in his arms the fur stuck against him. It stuck in clumps and despite how it made his bare skin itch he couldn’t help but bury his face in Sumo’s neck.

He grabbed onto the thick fur and buried his fingers into it. Still soft. The droplets of water slid down his skin, making Connor tremble slightly. It was not the pleasant rain the shower had been. He felt cold as too much if his body heat escaped through his wet skin.

Connor tightened his arms around Sumo. He pulled him closer against his chest and tried to sink into the large dog’s warmth. Although he was aware of the different physical dimensions between his body and Sumo’s, he felt so much smaller curled up against him. It was impossible to describe the shrinking feeling he felt, his physical dimensions never changed.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sumo was a hairy dog and it took a bit of time to clean off the thick fur from his skin before putting on his clothes. He chose his softest pajamas, a christmas gift from Hank’s ex wife, who was startlingly not surprised at Connor’s presence in the house during her last visit. She had wanted to catch up. Hank had gotten drunk when she left.

Still she sent them both pajamas. Warm ones with plush and colorful flannel patterns. His stress levels were hovering below 10% and had been since he came out of his blackout, that missing gap in memory. His memory files from the moment he stuck the substance under his tongue to waking up just before Hank’s call came were corrupted. Almost an hour and a half worth of data. He had been covered in mud and had made it all the way home and had no idea how.

** _[Thirium Contamination: 00.31%]_ **

** _[Right Arm Calibration: ^29%]_ **

** _[Begin Reconstruction]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

There was mud dried on the floors and carpets leading in from the front and back door. Reconstruction programs began to run as he tried to figure out what had happened in that missing time. The front door was deadbolted. Connor had the key for it but the path of the mud prints started at the backdoor.

Connor started in the kitchen. He was letting the cleaners soak into the carpet as he scrubbed the dried mud off of the kitchen tiles. 

The more he scrubbed at it, moving from the back door throughout the kitchen, the more his numbness in his arm seemed to settle. The stiff and uneven connections slowly sorted themselves out. It was uncomfortable, but he opted to ignore it.

The stains had been sitting for some time before Connor got to work cleaning them. It took awhile to get it all cleaned. Hank had said over the phone that he expected the house to be as clean as this morning and not trashed. The mess needed to be taken care of. The task listed itself as high priority.

Once all the stains were clean and the evidence of the mess was hidden away he put his focus on the substance. He still had some left, wrapped in a little paper wrapper. Part of him wanted to show Hank, tell him what he had done and how it made him feel.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^11%]_ **

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

The prompts across his HUD lingered for a moment until Connor blinked them away. He needed to focus in hiding it. If he told Hank about it then he would have to tell Hank how he got it. He didn’t think Hank would be happy at him for leaving the house so soon after being attacked in the area. It had been stupid of him, he could admit it, but he felt compelled. At least he had gotten a peace offering.

Connor went to his closet, pulling out the shoebox he kept his folded up Cyberlife uniform in. He tucked the wrapper under his jacket, slipping in the bottle of Gatorade as well, and making sure it was all covered by the dark grey fabric. He decided to not to Hank. He would offer it to Hank when he was ready to tell him why he left the house today and followed the same path to the store.

** _[Err0r]_ **

He put the box back in the closet. Hank never went through his things and he certainly wouldn’t pull out his old uniform. Until things had settled down and things went back to normal, there was no reason to further complicate it all further.

He went back to the kitchen now that everything was in place. Sumo followed him there, eyes drifting off to the empty food and water bowl in the corner. A low, needy grumble escaped Sumo’s throat.

“It’s not time for food yet,” Connor said simply.

He still grabbed the water dish to take to the sink. From there he could peek out into the back yard where he could see the disrupted dirt and mud. He set the dish down, much to Sumo’s joy, and moved towards the window to see clearer.

There had been a scuffle in the backyard off towards the fence. He zoomed in on the shape of the grooves in the mud, reconstructing the path of the person that fell onto the ground and stumbled as they got up, clawing and digging their feet into the mud. The person then walked up to the back door. The path matched the entrance of the muddy footprints.

** _[Reconstruction Complete]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^16%]_ **

Connor went to check his dirty clothes for his keys. The front door was deadbolted but he had a key. He should have. His pockets were empty. Connor dropped the clothes and began scanning the house, following the path he had walked when he had come home, hoping to see them lying on the ground. It was unlikely since he had just cleaned the floors.

** _[Accessing Memory. . .]_ **

** _[Connor pulled on his shoes. He pulled on his coat. Slipped his keys in his pocket.]_ **

Connor hummed in frustration. Hank prefered manual locks rather than electric. He didn’t want his front door connected to the internet. And Hank decided that the security of manual keys outweighed the risk of misplacing them. Until now it hadn’t been an issue. He had never thought he was capable of losing a single set of keys.

In the hour and a half he had blacked out, he lost his keys, climbed over the back fence, tracked mud around the house, and ended up staring at himself in the bathroom.

** _[Stress Levels: ^24%]_ **

He lost his keys. He had never lost something before. Someone could find them and unlock the doors. They could find out Connor was here. They would come here to hurt him.

Connor flinched when he heard the creak of the screen door. He took several steps back and away from the door. The deadbolt clicked open and Sumo lifted his head from the water bowl, ears perked up. He barked and moved quickly towards the door.

** _[Stress Levels: ^30%]_ **

“Oh man, you really did clean in here,” Hank said. He shut the door behind him and dropped to his knees to pet the eager dog. His eyes scanned the room and let out a low whistle. “It looks good.”

“The floors were dirty,” Connor said. He looked around. The all definitely looked brighter now. It was too obvious he had cleaned.

Hank chuckled as he stood up again. “Something is always dirty with you,” he said.

He went to the kitchen. There were no takeout bags today, no fast food. Connor watched Hank’s quick approach to him. Was he expected to cook tonight? They didn’t have much food in stock.

“You wanna go out tonight? Get out of the house? I know being holed up here isn’t fun,” Hank said. He stopped about a foot away.

“Out?” Connor asked.

“Yeah, like somewhere out of here?” Hank said slowly. He was smiling. “The aquarium has jellyfish. Like, real jellyfish. They’re new and the aquarium has a food court.”

** _[Stress Levels: ^35%]_ **

** _[Tell Hank About The Thirium Contamination]_ **

** _[Tell Hank He Lost His Keys]_ **

** _[Tell Hank He Blacked Out]_ **

** _[Apologize For Leaving]_ **

** _[Ask To Be Left Alone]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^42%]_ **

It felt like too many prompts. Each one seemed like the wrong choice, all just as bad as the one before. He knew he was making the wrong choices, but he didn't want to face Hank’s disappointment. Not yet.

He said nothing.

“And I know you like fish,” Hank said.

Connor settled on nodding. He was eager for the conversation moved on. The aquarium did sound fun. He hadn’t been yet but a new exhibit of real fish was likely to be an attraction. Hank wanted to go and it would he selfish to refuse.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

The aquarium was kept cold. Each pane of glass had a bone aching chill radiating from it. The water on the other side was kept cold. There were ocean animals drifting around in there and the ocean was very cold.

And very blue. The whole aquarium was blue. The light shining through the water was blue, the lights in the hallways of the aquarium, where humans and androids were all mingling together, was so dimly lit that there almost seemed to be no other color in the world besides the blue.

Connor felt it.

“It’s so cold in here,” Connor said softly. The jellyfish drifted through the water like balloons, long tendrils floating along behind them. They were real jellyfish, not android animals. 

Hank was standing close to the glass as well. It reflected their faces back at them. Hank watched the jellyfish intently. He blinked slowly up at them, hands stuffed in his pockets, as dozens rose higher and higher past the glass above their heads. They almost seemed illuminated in the low light.

“I guess these things are extinct in the wild,” Hank said softly. “They only exist in breeding programs in places like this.”

** _[Scanning. . .]_ **

** _[“Box Jellyfish”; Scientific Name: “Cubozoa”]_ **

“They are featured in seventeen aquariums Cross the world and their numbers have been growing steadily the past few years,” Connor said, the long tentacles of the jellyfish drifted over the glass in front of them. They were large, their body spanning longer than even Hank’s.

“I hope they don’t die out,” Hank said.

The conditions in the wild were no longer optimal for the survival of many species of jellyfish, including the box jellyfish. There would need to be major changes in the environmental policies to help reverse the effects of climate change.

“The box jellyfish has some of the most deadly and toxic in the world. Each tentacle, which can grow up to ten feet in length, has about five thousand stinging cells,” Connor said. He had his forehead pressed against the cold glass.

Hank took a deep breath, reaching out to tap his finger against the glass as they drifted by the walls of glass.

“That’s cool,” He said with a soft hum.

Connor hummed in agreement. The jellies were huge, drifting through the water peacefully. So many people had come to see them, awe at them. The last of their species. A single string from one of the long, flowing tentacles would kill an average human and yet Hank had his body pressed against the glass separating him from them. His hands were on the glass, cupping his eyes to see clearer into it.

** _[Thirium Contamination: 00.31%]_ **

** _[Stress Levels:^37%]_ **

The fish looked smooth. They would be if Connor could reach out and touch them. His fingers twitched, his hands both laid limply at his side. The cold seeped into forehead from where he had it pressed to the glass.

He watched the peaceful movements through the glass. Their bodies had no structure. The animals had no bones or vertebrae. No heart or brains. They had no other choice but to drift through the water. They were toxic enough to be dangerous killers but they were here anyway, protected and on display for people to watch in wonder.

The temperature radiating off of the glass read at just above thirty degrees celsius. It was likely much lower inside the thick walls. The cold made Connor feel numb, the deep stinging in his face where his skin pressed the glass. 

** _[Err0r]_ **

He didn’t like the cold. He didn’t like feeling frozen. There was still no snow outside, the day warmer than it had been the week before. It was still October. They still had all of winter to suffer through. Connor couldn’t escape the cold.

He took a step back from the glass and wrapped his arms around his chest to hold it together. He felt broken. The cold vibrated through every repaired area, each sealed crack, and all the ill fitting replacement parts. The thirium pump felt like it was pumping icy slush through his body, thick and slow and bitter. It sank deep into his body.

He backed up away from the glass, pulling his thin jacket tighter against his body. He wished he had asked Hank for a thicker coat, but the thin one had been cheaper and Connor had insisted androids didn’t feel cold. They shouldn’t feel cold. This was torture.

Hank was still looking at the jellyfish. His hands were still cupped around his eyes, looking into the fish tank. He wouldn’t want to be disturbed. Connor just needed to be somewhere warmer.

** _[Scanning Aquarium Website. . .]_ **

** _[Area of Interest: Tropical Fish]_ **

It was on the other side of the aquarium. It would hopefully be warmer there. The tropics are a region of Earth surrounding the equator. The tropics typically had warmer climates, hear, and sunshine.

** _[Stress Levels:^44%]_ **

Connor walked down the long corridor, surrounded from every angle by glass and that cold blue glow, the jellies drifting around him. It eventually opened up into the main part of the building, large windows letting in the bright sunlight. The temperature was slightly higher, and more human bodies wandering around to raise the average temperature in the air.

He had the path already planned, the fastest path to the tropical fish. The straightest path was through the cafeteria. There was an atmosphere with the crowd of people, all murmuring as they sat and ate and discussed the attractions. It was as if all the sound had accumulated together, creating an air so thick it was difficult to navigate through.

** _[Stress Levels:^53%]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

Too many people were looking at him as he walked by. They were androids, their stress levels appearing on his hud as his gaze drifted fleetingly past them. Connor just wanted to see the tropical fish. He wasn’t here to disturb anyone.

They must recognize him. They all knew who he was. He was recognizable, a unique model, one of a kind. He had marched a thousand androids out of Cyberlife tower and they all knew who he was. Their eyes felt like daggers in his chest. Connor’s hand moved up, clutching at his shirt directly over his thirium pump.

It hurt.

** _[Stress Levels: ^60%]_ **

Someone grabbed him and Connor jumped. He wanted to shove off their hands and disappear into the crowd. He wanted to beg them to leave him alone. He wasn’t a machine anymore. He didn’t want to be that anymore. He just wanted to be warm why would no one leave him alone?

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

** _[Warning: Stress Levels Elevated]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: 67%]_ **

“Hey. Hey, Connor.” Someone was shaking his shoulder, squeezing firmly but not hurting him. It didn’t hurt.

“I just want to see the tropical fish, I’m sorry,” Connor whispered softly. The other androids didn’t want him here. Not after what he had done.

“It’s okay. You’re allowed to see the tropical fish.”

The voice was gentle. They didn’t sound angry with him. Maybe they wouldn’t hurt him.

“Come on, let's go see the tropical fish. You’re almost there. I bet it’ll be nice and quiet over there. That’s what we need. Quiet.” 

The voice rambled soft and quick. It lead Connor through the late afternoon crowd at the museum on a beautiful sunny Friday. The hands on his arms were steady and firm, but he didn’t feel trapped or hurt. He followed mindlessly as he was steered towards a corridor leading away from the larger crowd.

It did grow quiet. The murmur of voices drifted far away. Connor leaned against the wall, holding onto it for support. The heaviness in the air went with it. He sank to the ground. Connor leaned forward and rested his head against his knees. They were closer to the tropical fish. It would he warmer there. He didn’t have to bother anyone.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Stress Level: 67%]_ **

“How are you feeling?”

Connor lifted his head again. Hank was sitting on the ground, his back pressed against the wall, a foot away from where Connor sat in a similar position.

Hank must have followed him. Connor didn’t get far and he wasn’t hiding, of course Hank found him. Connor shrugged his shoulders, letting them sag as his weight seemed to pull him downwards.

“I’m alright,” Connor said.

Hank huffed through his nose, his shoulders tensed. Connor looked away from him and down at his hands. He wiggled his fingers.

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 29%]_ **

“You’re not okay,” Hank said.

** _[Err0r]_ **

“The repairs are withstanding,” Connor said softly.

“I'm not talking about repairs. I’m talking about what you’re feeling,” Hank said.

Connor wrapped his arms tightly against his chest and turned partially away from Hank. He knew that Connor was feeling. He wasn’t sure how Hank knew, perhaps he had been too obvious. He wasn’t able to control what he was feeling enough.

“I know it’s been a year since you turned and you have experienced a lot, but this is something different. You’ve never had to deal with this before, it makes sense if you’re confused. I'm here to help if you need it,” Hank said. His voice was soft and gentle. His tone didn't get high enough to be heard by the people occasionally strolling past them in the corridor.

“I’m not…” Connor wrinkled his nose in annoyance. He was an advanced investigative prototype. He didn’t get confused. The facts were always easy. He was good with facts. “I’m handling it.”

“You're not handling it. Not once have you faced what happened. You're ignoring it,” Hank said.

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

Hank was getting visibly frustrated. The tempo of his voice picked up, faster and faster. His tone was unsteady. Shaky. Connor didn’t understand how he always did everything wrong. Why did he have to make people upset? Hank came here for jellyfish, Connor was ruining it.

“What do you want me to say?” Connor asked.

It was the wrong response. Hank’s face twisted into an angry grimace. His body leaned away as if physically repulsed by what Connor had said.

** _[Stress Levels: ^69%]_ **

** _[Apologize]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispered.

Hank shook his head. “Don’t.”

** _[Explain Myself]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“I’m fine. I just wanted to tell you something to give you peace of mind. I don’t want you worrying,” Connor said. He needed to maintain control. A calm demeanor would deescalate the situation. He didn’t want Hank to be upset with him anymore.

Hank rubbed his hands furiously over his face. Connor had gotten it wrong again. None of his words seemed to be soothing Hank, nothing he did brought comfort.

“Connor, a few days ago you were  _ attacked. _ And you haven't mentioned anything to anyone about it so I’m worried about how you may be processing it,” Hank said.

“I’ve already given my statement to police,” Connor said.

Hank chuckled and shook his head. “That’s not what I meant and you know it, but if you want to ignore it then fine. I'll let it pass for now.”

** _[Apologize]_ **

** _[Ask To See Tropical Fish]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

He didn’t seem satisfied. Hank’s expression was still pinched and uncomfortable. He didn’t get the answers he wanted. Connor didn’t know what to do. There were too many social rules he didn’t understand and each time he broke one he felt like he was failing. Connor didn’t like the feeling of backstepping.

“I just want to see the tropical fish,” Connor said softly.

“Okay,” Hank said. He looked like he had more to say, his mouth opening but not letting out a sound. The silence lingered until Hank settled on something. “Okay fine. Tropical fish it is.”


	8. Chapter 8

Connor returned to work that Monday. He was physically capable of working. There was no good reason he needed to be off the job for much longer. The damage was repaired.

Hank had muttered about not being ready all the way into the station, Connor didn’t dignify the statements with a response. The damages were repaired. The replacement parts were more than sufficient. He was more than capable of handling his job.

** _[Thirium Contamination: 0.03%]_ **

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 39%]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^22%]_ **

As soon as they came into the station the other officers started looking at him. For the most part, Connor was ignored at work. After the revolution, for those first few weeks, he was ostracized. The police station was understaffed and Detroit had filled almost instantly with homeless, nearly free androids. The frustrations of many had been taken out on him, the only android who had reached out to the police station for employment.

For a moment, Connor thought they all hated him again. His hand went up to his chest, pressing over his thirium pump as his eyes dropped to the floor. He walked towards his desk, in step behind Hank, not looking up.

“Don’t look so tense,” Hank said as they sat down.

“I’m not tense,” Connor said.

His desk was almost exactly how he left it. He had all his papers tucked away. He had a small line of ceramic dogs, and a tiny potted cactus. There were three things different about his desk. He was missing six pens from the cup he had sitting opposite the cactus, many if the files he had tucked away for his active cases were missing, and there was a large white envelope with his name written across it in delicate cursive.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Analyzing Handwriting…]_ **

** _[Match Found!]_ **

** _[Handwriting Match “Officer Tina Chen”: 97.3%]_ **

Connor smiled softly. He reached out and traced his finger over the large circles she scribbled to create his name. It was a large envelope made with thick paper. Connor wondered if it was soft. Could paper be soft?

“What is it?” Hank asked, his voice drowning out the sudden swell in Connor’s thoughts.

“It’s an envelope addressed to me,” Connor said.

Hank scoffed and rolled his eyes. Connor pulled the envelope closer to him. Curiosity overwhelmed him, his eyes searching for clues about what was inside. He analyzed the handwriting again, searching for any positive or negative feelings in the curve of the pen. There were no creases on the corners of the envelope, which indicates it was handled with care. Its contents were well protected until delivered to his desk.

The flap of the envelope was tucked inside, the glue unactivated. He didn’t need to tear the paper. He easily slid the envelope open to reveal a peek inside.

** _[Analyzing…]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

He pulled out the contents.

It was a picture of a bulldog with an exaggeratedly large thermometer sticking out of its mouth. An ice pack rested lopsided on top of its head. A blanket laid around the dog, giving the impression that it was partially wrapped up in it. The words  _ ‘Get Well Soon’  _ were written in yellow print at the bottom.

The picture was made of thick cardstock. It was folded in half evenly and were the exact dimensions of the envelope. Connor opened it up, eyes drifting over the chaotic abundance of words inside.

_ ‘We hope you stop feeling so ‘Ruff’ and get well soon!’ _

The words were printed. Everything else was messily scribbled into the card with various shades of ink. He didn’t need to analyze the handwriting as everyone had signed their names with various short messages of well-wishes.

“Well…?” Hank said, the word drawn out.

Nearly a dozen officers had signed the card, all of them still milling around the station. Connor looked up from the card, looking around. He saw several sets of eyes quickly dart away.

“They gave me a card, wishing me a steady recovery,” Connor said. He carefully closed it again to see the picture on the front.

“Well then, you should tell them that the repairs are withstanding,” Hank said.

Connor nodded. “You’re right, I should.”

Hank scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re such a smartass, I don’t know why anyone was worried about you.”

“They were worried?” Connor asked.

“Yeah, believe it or not, they don’t like it when bad things happen to people they like,” Hank said. He gave Connor one last smile before turning back to the computer screen.

Connor looked back around. His eyes drifted over the precinct, seeking out each person whose name was signed in Connor’s card. Hank was implying that many if their coworkers  _ liked  _ him. They had all reached out to offer this small bit of comfort to him.

The details of what had happened was likely common knowledge amongst them all. This was a police station and Connor’s assault was an active investigation. In the amount of time he had been gone the story of it all had likely been circulated. Or, preferably, he was exaggerating their interest. Maybe they cared enough for a card but not for the details. 

** _[Stress Levels: ^27%]_ **

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

“Hank,” Connor said. He paused for a moment, eyes drifting over the names, compiling a list in his mind. “Who are the detectives in charge of my case?”

Hank hummed, tilting his head but not looking away from his computer monitor. “You don’t already know? Figured you had it uploaded in your brain or something?”

Hank was right and Connor felt like a fool for not considering the option early. It wasn’t precisely ‘uploaded into his brain’ but he could wirelessly access the police database.

** _[Accessing Detroit Police Database…]_ **

Connor set the card on his desk, slightly open so it was standing up. He liked having a place there for it, like how Officer Miller had a picture of baby Damian on his desk and Detective Garcia had a picture of her cockatiel, Suzetta. Connor liked having something to look at, something that filled him with warmth when he saw it. He liked having that list of names of people who wished him well.

Warmth. Connor liked the warmth.

** _[User: Connor RK800 #313-248-317-52 _ **

** _Password: ************]_ **

** _[Access Granted]_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“I don’t see why that would be necessary, Captain. Forgive me for overstepping, but I’m going to have to disagree with this,” Connor said quickly. He was surprised at the rise of irritation that made his whole body tense. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms.

** _[Right Arm Calibration: ^41%]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^32%]_ **

Captain Fowler sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Connor, this isn’t a decision that’s entirely in my hands. This isn’t something I want to do, but it's what's best. You refuse to stay on leave so you’re on desk duty.”

“That would be a waste of my abilities,” Connor said.

He thought he felt it, the crack in his thirium pump. He pressed his hand against his chest, over the new casing. A replacement. A minor repair. There was no damage anymore and he couldn’t feel anything anymore. He didn’t know why he thought he felt something, but the more he focused on it the farther away the feeling got.

“This isn’t about abilities. It’s about passing the psych eval. Until you do, why don’t you take a look at cold cases?” Captain Fowler said. It almost sounded as if he was offering it as a gift instead of a banishment. How was he supposed to be of any use?

“Thank you, sir.” Connor said quickly.

He barely had any time to settle into being back. Once he had pulled up his case file he hesitated opening it. It was tagged as high priority. He had gone to Detective Collins to ask him about the case, to see if he had any information that wasn’t yet available on the casefile. Regretfully, Collins was reluctant to share and Captain Fowler was quick to intervene.

Fowler was looking at him. Connor felt like he was being picked apart. He was surrounded by too many detectives, all far too good at trying to read people. And Connor was a victim. They had to read him.

He wanted to ask them all to stop looking at him.

** _[Stress Levels: ^38%]_ **

“Are you okay?” Fowler asked.

Connor blinked quickly and said, “I’m fine.”

“Well, after something like this, it’s perfectly normal to-“

“I’m fine, Captain. I appreciate the concern but I would rather we all move past this incident. It won’t affect my work.” Connor spoke slowly and calmly. He wanted to appear in control. Competent.

Captain Fowler nodded. “Then you’ll pass your psych eval and things will go back to normal. Until then, cold cases.” His voice was firm and steady. It sounded like he was lassing direct orders. He gave one final nod. “Desk duty.”

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

“Yes, sir.”

Connor was annoyed. His body felt like it was vibrating with every single angry thought that popped into his head. He wanted to tell Fowler to mind his own business. There was no need to allow a personal attack to interfere with his work.

“I know you’re not happy, but this is best for the whole department, even you,” Fowler said. He waved Connor away, dismissing him.

Connor hesitated a moment, forcing his anger down into his stomach. He swallowed it. He wrapped a barrier around the emotion, clearing it from his thoughts. He clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together. He expected to feel better once he was out of the constrained space of the office and into the bullpen. The anger should have fizzled out and extinguished.

He was still fuming when he reached his desk. The anger was curdling in his stomach and tasted sour in his mouth. Hank looked up expectantly as Connor returned.

“Didn’t find anything out?” He asked, eyes drifting over Connor’s temple.

He reached up to cover his LED, flockers yellow. He pressed his fingers against it and it dug further into his head. He sat down, turning his chair slightly to hide the LED from Hank’s gaze.

“Captain Fowler put me on desk duty until I pass a psychological evaluation. I’ll be on cold cases until then, but it won't be for very long,” Connor said calmly. He wondered how quickly he could get the evaluation done. How soon could he get this all done and over with?

“He wants you to be evaluated before going into the field. That must be frustrating for you,” Hank said.

Connor nodded. “He must want to make sure the incident isn’t affecting my mental health.”

“Did it affect you mentally?”

“No, it didn’t. I’m fine.” Connor’s hands rested on top of his desk. His fingers started a slow tapping rhythm.

** _[Stress Levels: ^42%]_ **

“And were you fine a few days ago at the aquarium?” Hank raised an eyebrow.

Connor felt the urge to hide his face away. He didn’t want to be seen. He didn’t want to be reminded of how he let his emotions run away from him. They had seen him, the other humans and androids. People who recognized him. They knew what he was and had seen him trapped in fear and discomfort. Connor hadn’t been able to control himself then.

“That won’t happen again and it had nothing to do with my work,” Connor said in a firm voice.

Hank shrugged. “Not yet.”

“You have your own problems to worry about so stay out if mine, Hank. Don’t start caring now just because I got hurt. I’m fine! Why don’t you listen?” He surprised himself as his voice grew louder. The anger was bubbling in his stomach. He reached up to press his hand against his thirium pump and leaned his weight into it. His throat was dry. He thought he might gag.

“You think I don’t care?” Hank asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“I want to be left alone.”

Hank turned away from him. He hunched over his computer terminal and Connor could no longer get a good look at his face. His body was tense. His stance closed off. Connor felt a small spark of satisfaction. He felt like he had won. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Connor’s anger had simmered by the time they made it home at the end of the day. Mostly he felt exhausted by it. He was tired from the constant looming stress. He sat down on the couch and felt his body sink into the cushions.

“You wanna talk about it?” Hank asked as he kicked the door shut behind him.

** _[Stress Levels: 67%]_ **

** _[Thirium Contamination: 0.02%]_ **

“Your cases?” Connor said, hoping to steer the topic of conversation.

“I mean about earlier,” Hank said.

It wasn't difficult to understand what he meant. They hadn’t spoken since their argument, not since Connor had angrily asked to be left alone. He had been hoping that the man would have forgotten or at least decided to ignore it.

“We never talked about the night you were attacked,” Hank said. His tone was slow, cautious.

“We’ve talked about it,” Conmor said. His eyes drifted to the tv. It was off, the screen black and empty. He watched it regardless, ignoring Hank in his peripheral vision, still standing near the door.

“We haven’t. Not really. I apologized, but we haven't actually talked about it,” Hank sounded rushed. He spoke faster and faster as if he was in a race. Once he had finished he stared at Connor with a pointed glare. He then nodded and continued. “That day was fucked. I was so wrapped up in things that I failed you. This is the only time that you’ve ever really needed me and I failed you.”

** _[Stress Levels: ^70%]_ **

** _[Warning!]_ **

Connor blinked. He turned away slightly, hiding his right temple from Hank’s unwavering attention. The LED was blinking rapidly between yellow and red. His stress had been elevated all day. Once they went up he had a very hard time getting them down again. It seemed like all day they just got higher and higher.

“I didn’t need you,” Connor said. His hand found its way to his chest, gripping at the front of his shirt. He couldn't feel it. “It's not your job to answer the phone every time I call. Even if you answered the phone nothing would have changed.”

“Maybe not but I would have been there. I could at the very least keep you from running off before the police showed up,” Hank said. The man seemed incapable of slowing down. The words rushed out of him with purpose.

Connor shook his head, patiently waiting for Hank’s voice to settle down. The man was emotional. He was always so loud and his tone of voice was always so demanding.

“Aren’t you gonna say something?” Hank said.

“I’m fine. You answering the phone would have just made the situation worse,” Connor said calmly.

Hank grimaced, slightly showing his teeth in anger.

** _[Stress Levels: ^72%]_ **

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

“How the fuck would me being there do any sort of harm?” Hank said, anger spilling into his tone.

“If you had answered and instructed me to stay and wait for the police, then you would then have left the house to find me,” Connor said.

“Of course, I wouldn’t just leave you out there,” Hank said.

“That would be the issue. How would you stumble drunkenly in the night to find me waiting severely damaged in an area where I had just been attacked by androids been helpful to anyone?” Connor said.

He didn’t like remembering. Hank had been so distraught that night already. Connor didn’t want to remember the annoyance and frustration Hank had shown him that night when Connor failed at every turn when it had been his job to comfort.

Hank seemed to flinch back. Connor hadn’t meant to sound startling, he just wanted Hank to see the situation clearly.

“I’m not upset about that.”

“You're gonna tell me that being alone that night had no effect on you? I shouldn’t have been that shitfaced in the first place. I shouldn’t have sent you out there. I sent you away, it’s my fault. If I coulda just controlled myself for one goddamn night and not got so caught in myself.”

“I'm not upset about that,” Connor said again a bit louder and with a bit more force behind it.

** _[Stress Levels: ^74%]_ **

“Fine, you're not upset about it but any normal person would have felt something. Would have taken leave, would have gone to a therapist, and definitely wouldn’t throw a fit about being put on restrictions.”

Connor blinked at Hank’s growing frustration, more and more energy leaking into his voice. The scans ran, picking apart Hank’s voice and body language. Hank’s stress had been rising ever since they had gotten into the house to start the conversation.

“I’m an android. I don’t need the recovery time that a human would require. I don’t need anything. I’m fine,” Connor said. He kept his tone calm, not wanting to match Hank’s rising frustration. He was too exhausted to care.

This was nothing more than guilt. It wasn’t even new guilt. Hank had been drunk that day for a reason. It was icy, it was the anniversary, and Connor didn’t fault Hank for failing to stop himself from falling into the bottle that day. The guilt had already been there, it had been festering for years. That day it had been so overfilling it was pouring out the edges and had stained itself om Connor. He didn’t want Hank to feel guilty over what had happened to him. It was Connor’s own fault.

“You’re honestly going to pretend like nothing happened? Hank said. He almost appeared more angry.

** _[Stress Levels: ^77%]_ **

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

The alerts were startling. His hand twitched as he felt some phantom feeling of heaviness pulled at his thirium pump. He wanted to press his hand against it again, press it in to make sure it was properly in place. His fingers twitched restlessly.

Hank huffed out of his nose. He always seemed so frustrated with Connor these days. He had been for a while. Nothing Connor did could make the man happy anymore, all he did was cause problems.

“I’m not pretending,” Connor said.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Warning!: Stress Critical]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

  
  
  


** _[Err0r]_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _[Err0]_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _[Warning!: Proximity Alert]_ **

“Connor, are you listening to a damn thing I’m saying?” Hank asked. Connor’s body jolted back quickly when Hank’s fingers snapped before his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  
  


“No, no.” Connor said, his voice coming out in a whisper. He had jumped to his feet, scurrying from the only other person in the room. His eyes darted to his right when he caught the sight of movement.

** _[Stress Levels: 82%]_ **

** _[Warning!: Risk of Self-Destruct Elevated]_ **

  
  


Sumo lowered his head, unblinking eyes staring at Connor. The dog let out a low grumble deep in his chest.

“You were saying I was in denial. That you didn’t want me to bottle it up. I was paying attention,” Connor said. He hated how his voice shook. He hated how his fingers twitched with excess energy. “You think there’s something wrong with me but there isn’t. You want there to be something wrong. I am capable of handling this. You’re projecting. Just because you can’t control yourself you think I’m going to spiral into some self-destructive mess because that’s what you would do. I can handle this so please just leave me alone.”

** _[Err0r]_ **

After the avalanche of words fell from his lips Connor was stunned to silence. He didn’t know why he felt so angry. Every little irritation felt like it was lighting a spark inside of him.

He hated feeling like this.

“Fine, whatever. You wanna act like a robot where nothing bothers then whatever. I don’t care anymore. You’re on your own,” Hank backed up, hands up in surrender.

Connor stayed frozen in spot as Hank walked the long way around the couch towards the kitchen, purposefully putting distance between them.

** _[Err0r]_ **

Satisfaction curled in Connor’s stomach like a snake. He had never felt so happy making Hank angry before. He didn’t like feeling this way.

Hank left the kitchen with a bottle gripped tightly in hand and he marched down the hallway. The door slammed shut and Sumo’s tags jingled on his collar as he followed along after him. Connor was left standing in the living room. He waited. Hank didn’t come back out.

The satisfaction tasted sour now. He wanted to take it all back, suck the words back in with a deep breath. Connor somehow continued to fail at being a good friend, he was barely managing to be alive. He didn’t feel quite human. He hated feeling inadequate, subpar, unable to achieve the outcome he wanted.

Part of him wanted to march down the hallway and bang on the door until the man opened it. Then Connor would apologize. He would beg forgiveness if he had to. Guilt was an awfully dark thing to feel. Regret wrapped around him and threatened to overwhelm him.

** _[Err0r] _ **

His first day back to work wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to feel happy. Connor didn’t think he could handle always feeling this way. He would rather feel the burning of a too hot shower or the biting bitter cold against his cheeks. He would prefer that feeling if his shattered jaw after the bat had swung down on him. Connor would rather have the pain back. He wanted the distraction so he wouldn’t have to  _ feel _ like this anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

** _[Thirium C0ntamination: 00.23%]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: v11%]_ **

Connor didn’t end up going into stasis that night. Once the sounds of Hank moving drunkenly around his room had quieted down he pulled his secret box out from his closet. He pinched off just a tiny bit. He had tucked it under his tongue and then curled up on the couch, face pressed into the back cushions.

He laid there for hours. He didn’t so much as blink. It was difficult to say if he blacked out or not, all he could focus on were the designs in the fabric of the couch. Most of it had been corroded away by years of wear and tear. Some spots of the couch had been degraded more than others indicated favorite spots.

Connor had been sleeping on this couch since the revolution. Hank would go to sleep and Connor would take up his spot here. There was already an indent from Connor laying across the couch, the shape of his body had sunken into the cushions. 

He could ask for an apartment with New Jericho. He would have a small one bedroom or studio in a mainly android district of Detroit. That's what all the other androids had done, nearly 93% of Detroit androids were housed by Jericho. Many of them would know what he was, what he had done. Quite a few were in Jericho when he had led the humans to them. He had known he was being tracked, had warned Markus about the attack moments before it happened, and so many had been shot down and killed because of him. So many androids were either on that boat or had seen the attack on the news. They wouldn’t want him in their buildings. They would be afraid to have him sleep just a few doors down. They would know where he was. They would want to hurt him for what he did to them.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Warning!: Damage Detected]_ **

** _[Warning!: Right Arm C0nnection Err0r Detected]_ **

Pain burst up Connor’s right arm. His left hand was gripping at the arm, his fingernails had curled under the misaligned connection. The incompatible bicomponent made the lower half of his arm to be clearly out of place. It didn’t fit the shape of his upper arm. Connor had managed to dig his fingernails into the parts of his arms that didn’t fit, the plates that stuck out slightly. His nails had picked at the edges. The edges of the plates had started to peel up and pull away slightly. Connor wrinkled his nose at the sight if thirium pooling around the edges of his fingernails, around the uneven plating, the skin had pulled back to escape the damaging fingers of Connor’s left hand. It dripped down his arm, long streams of blue that slid down his wrist. A few drops fell off at once, falling onto the couch cushion.

Connor threw off his blanket and jumped to his feet. He didn’t want thirium to stain the couch. Not the place he slept. There was a second bedroom down the hall, off to the side next to Hank’s. It was already claimed. Someone already owned the bedroom and the door was never opened. Connor’s only place was the couch and he didn’t want it thirium stained.

He tried to stop the thirium from dripping further. His arm was a mess of blue by the time he made it to the bathroom. Blue droplets had fallen from his arm and onto the floor and counter and into the sink as he tried to contain the mess. His self-healing was already working on stopping the bleeding.

** _[Stress Levels: v09%]_ **

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

The pain was radiating. It burned up his arm and it only flared up worse when Connor ran the damaged area under cold water. The blue circled the drain. It was dark and stood out against the white porcelain of the sink. Connor was surprised, he hadn’t realized he was injuring himself until he felt the pain. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t his arm. It was a replacement, the wrong kind of replacement part that didn’t belong to him. It wasn’t his arm. His fingers were always numb, more so when he could actually feel things. He could feel the cold water biting into his skin and the exposed underlayer of plastimetal. The pin made his fingers tingle. It almost made the cold water feel burning hot and his fingers were being bombarded with poking needles.

The pain was overwhelming. It demanded his attention. That was what he wanted, after all. It was what he deserved. He had made mistake after mistake. It was almost a relief. The pain was better than the numbness. He would rather have the pain than this damaged arm. He pressed his fingers against it again.

** _[Damage Detected!]_ **

He hooked his thumbnail into a damaged piece of his arm. He kept trying to pick at the raised pieces of his arm. The more he agitated it the more thirium flowed from his arm. He hated it. If Connor could just rip it off he would. His original arm was state of the art. It had been designed with advanced mobility and dexterity. Now he could hardly wiggle his fingers and properly hold a utensil. 

Sumo whined behind him. Connor flinched at the sound, taking a few quick steps back from the sink.

** _[Err0r]_ **

“I’ll clean it up,” Connor said quickly instead of explaining himself. Sumo didn’t need an explanation. There was no way the dog understood what he was doing. What was he doing?

Sumo whined again. He ducked his head as Connor moved around the bathroom. He grabbed a nearby towel and wrapped it around his arm to soak up the water and leftover thirium. Connor felt the weight of Sumo’s judgemental stare, the shame curdled in his gut. He felt like he had been caught in the act.

“Stop looking at me please,” Connor mumbled softly. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t need to feel bad. It’s not even my arm. Not really. I deserve this. You don’t need to stare at me as if this is bad. I’ve done a lot of bad things but this isn’t that. This is good. I did good. The arm already isn’t compatible, it’s not something I need. It's better for me to damage it.”

It was a lot of worthless excuses. Sumo didn’t understand a word if it was fine because Connor couldn’t explain why he had done it. He had no excuse other than he wanted to damage the arm despite the presence of pain. Pain he deserved for once again ruining a conversation with Hank. This was the man’s home and Connor had done nothing except cause tension.

Sumo huffed and walked out of the bathroom. Connor moved to follow, his eyes traced the dog’s movements to the kitchen and to take a seat next to his empty water bowl. Connor felt another increasingly more common burst of guilt. He had forgotten to refill it earlier. He had once again been too caught up in himself. Connor didn’t like feeling so selfish.

“Please don’t judge me. I didn’t ask to be like this. I didn’t want to be the way I am, they made me,” Connor whispered quickly as he filled up a cup with water to pour in the bowl. He wanted to explain himself but everything sounded like self-pity when he said it, like he wasn’t taking responsibility. “I’m sorry.”

** _[Stress Levels: ^12%]_ **

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

Connor smiled as Sumo started licking eagerly at the water. He brushed his hand over Sumo’s neck, combing his fingers through the dogs thick fur. He could feel the strands sliding between his fingers. Sumo was soft and body heat radiated off of him. Touching Sumo was something remarkable. It was a gentle sensation of fur against his skin and Connor didn’t want to stop. 

But he had to stop. There was still a mess of thirium trailing through the house. Although it would evaporate off of smooth surfaces it would stain the couch and carpet and especially the white towel he had wrapped around his arm. Connor needed to clean everything up, he didn't want Hank to know if the mess he made. He had been too careless and Hank would be angry that he let his blood make a mess of the place.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


By the time morning had come, Connor was able to get his thoughts in order. Everything was still off, his mind kept wanting to run away, his focus slipped away. Connor had to catch himself. It was easier once he sat down at his desk and started working on more cold cases.

He was at a dead end on his current case. It was an old arson that had killed three. It had started at a bedroom window, killing the teenage girl asleep in her bed. The fire had spread through her house, killing her parents as well. It was purposefully set and there were a size of men’s 14 shoe prints in the mud outside. The teenage girl had just broken up with her short term boyfriend the weekend before. He was the perfect suspect. He had a motive. He had a history of violent assault charges. Too bad he had an alibi, he was in jail for underage drinking at the time. All the other leads dried up almost as soon as they popped up.

** _[Stress Levels: ^13%]_ **

** _[Thirium C0ntamination: 00.22%]_ **

His stress had been very low all night and into the morning. There was very little fluctuation, staying in the teens or lower. His stress hadn’t been this steady and low in a long time. It was nice, not having the built up tension in his body that the stress always brought with it. Even despite the pain from last night, the newly ben and dented plates of his replacement part where he had pulled up the sides. The connection had been slightly damaged, the calibration had deteriorated by just a few percentage points. The entire area ached, from the wound down to his wrist and all the way up to his shoulder.

The pain wasn’t so bad. The pain was new. It was clear and focused and real. It wasn't anything that he could misinterpret. What Connor liked most about real, physical pain was that he didn’t need to overthink it. He didn’t need to rely on his sensors, scanners, databases, or processors. This is something he wasn’t designed to feel.

Connor spread his fingers out on his desk. The papers were smooth and dry, the stuck to the textured tips of his fingers. The edges of paper were sharp, but flimsy. He could understand why it would slice easily through human skin. Papercuts were painful, every webpage Connor consulted said that despite the minimal damage it had high levels of pain.

He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. He wanted to clear the thoughts away. He didn’t want to know what his line of thought indicated about him now. Perhaps he was unstable. Connor would have to add ‘Hypocrite’ to the growing list of bad things about him. It fit nicely under ‘Deviant Hunter’, ‘Traitor’, and ‘Murderer’. As a hypocrite, Connor would actively try to discourage Hank’s self-destructive behavior while not stopping his own. He really should stop though, he wasn’t blind to the fact that a lot of his behaviors recently have been troubling.

** _[Stress Levels: v10%]_ **

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

He was fine. Connor had just gotten preoccupied with feeling pain again. He still wasn’t used to it. Connor refused to acknowledge a possibility that he would harm himself for any other purpose other than curiosity. After this morning he decided his curiosity was met. Connor should focus on feeling good things. Like Sumos fur, warm showers, and heavy blankets. Connor would like to try hugging again once Hank was no longer angry with him.

Connor glanced over to Hank’s desk. Lieutenant Anderson had left hours ago to work his caseload. He was working out in the field. Connor hated being on desk duty. He hated working cold cases. Some of the cases were decades old, the murderers long dead. Connor found no measurable social benefit to solving such cases. It was a waste of his specialized functions.

All the time, money, and effort to make him the perfect investigative unit and it was all wasted.

“Connor?”

He blinked at the sound of his name being called. Officer Miller stood over him. A confused and unease frown had twisted the man’s features. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. The man’s body language read anxiety and energy.

“What do you need, Officer Miller?” Connor asked.

“We really need to ask you an android question.” Miller said, tossing his thumb over his shoulder. He had gestured to a small group of officers that had gathered by the holding cells. “Like we brought in some android this morning and it’s acting very strange? And you know more about androids than any of us.”

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[C0nflicting Job Description]_ **

It was a common misconception that Connor never bothered to correct. He knew less about androids than the technical support on call, but he could easily access a database of information on the subject. He could easily provide an answer to their questions as long as there was one available online.

Connor stood up and pulled out the wrinkles of his jacket. He pushed in his chair and started to follow Miller towards the holding cells. The human officers were whispering to each other, attention locked on the cell they had gathered around. Something was happening with the android inside. There had been plenty of androids that had come through the station since the revolution. Anyone from suspects to victims, witnesses and even job seekers. An android in the holding cell wasn’t a strange occurrence in and of itself.

“What happened to them?” Connor asked Miller.

The other man shrugged. “It was trying to rob a store last night with a knife. When we showed up it didn’t even try to run away, it just tried to sell us the knife.”

“Did anyone take the android to be scanned for malfunctions or any damages?” Connor asked. 

“We did a basic scan and there were no shutdown warnings,” Miller said.

“So what are they doing that has you so concerned?” Connor said.

Miller didn’t need to answer. Once they reached the holding cells and all of the humans stepped back to let Connor though he was able to see the issue. 

** _[Accessing Memory…]_ **

He was a PL600, his blue tinged blond hair was falling over his eyes. Connor could only stare at the android, his familiar face had sent Connor into a shock. Every second he looked at the PL600 was haunted by the the sound of gunfire so vivid in Connor’s memory that he almost turned to run. The android was sitting on the floor, his back pressed flat against the glass wall. He had taken off his shirt, leaving it hung limply off of one shoulder. The strange behavior was obvious the moment Connor was able to get a good look at him.

Thirium was smeared over every available inch of skin or smooth white plastimetal. The plating in his abdomen was open. It had a normal relief hatch to get in for maintenance, though it had been so forcibly ripped open that it was cracked and bent, the edges pulled back far from their natural shape. One of the PL600s hands was still gripping his stomach plating while the other hand had disappeared inside the abdominal cavity.

“Let me go in,” Connor said softly.

** _[Stress Levels: ^14%]_ **

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

** _[Outgoing Call to “Dispatch”...]_ **

** _[“Detr0it Emergency Services”]_ **

Connor flinched as the call connected, the voice flickering into static before stabilizing.

“There's an injured android here at the station. He’s severely damaged himself and needs immediate assistance,” Connor said quickly once the connection was made. The PL600 had incredibly low stress levels compared to the situation at hand, ruling out self-destruction. Either it was a malfunction or an unstable mental condition.

The PL600 began to tug on something inside his stomach, arm straining against something that wanted to stay in place. Connor took a step towards the door, ready to slip inside and stop him when a hand hooked onto his elbow and pulled him back.

“You can’t go in there, what if it’s crazy?” Officer Chen said quickly, eyes wide and confused.

“I just called for an ambulance. He has clearly been at this a while, has anyone even begun to administer first aid?” Connor said. The whole department had to get their first aid and CPR recertifications due to an addition of android care. Connor had seen many officers provide care to android victims, on the street and in the moment of crisis.

Connor pulled his arm out of Officer Chen’s hold and held up his palm to the door. He slipped inside and quickly made sure the door shut behind him. The PL600 didn't even look up. According to Miller, he hadn’t acted violently since being arrested . He had tried to rob a place just to turn around and attempt to sell his weapon. Money appeared to be a motivation, not destruction or anger.

Still, Connor didn’t want to surprise the android.

“Hello,” He said with a calm voice. The PL600 didn’t look up. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hello, my name is Connor.”

The PL600 jerked in surprise, yanking his arm out of his abdomen. It was completely covered in a thick layer of thirium, shining bright under the fluorescent lights.

“Oh, hey,” The PL600 blinked as he looked up at Connor. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his reaction delayed. “My name is Dillan. You’re the RK800.”

“I am.”

Connor nodded slowly.

** _[Scanning…]_ **

“May I ask what you’re doing?” Connor said. 

He could get a better angle of the inside of Dillan’s abdomen. Several non-critical biocomponents had been jostled and torn free from their proper places. Dillan looked down at himself and then looked back up at Connor. Dillan’s eyes shifted slowly, his eyes seeming to struggle with the motorizations of the action.

“It itches,” Dillan said.

** _[Err0r]_ **

“But you’re hurting yourself,” Connor said.

Dillan looked back down at himself, at his blue stained hands and the torn apart structures of his stomach. The android wasn’t entirely aware of his actions, a sense of disconnect was radiating off of his movements, echoed in his body language and in the confused apathy of his voice.

“I can’t stop I have to get it out,” Dillan said.

“Get what out?” Connor said. Dillan was no longer digging around inside, the distraction had stilled his hands, and Connor slowly walked forward. He slowly made his way to Dillan, hands reaching out in front of him calmly.

Dillan saw them, his eyes drifted over Connor’s hands and then up to his face. “You’re not gonna kill me, are you?” He asked.

Connor crouched down, not stopping now that Dillan was calmly letting him approach, his blood stained hands still hovering in the air in front of himself. He saw Connor moving closer, now directly in front of him, but he hardly moved a muscle.

“No, I’m not going to hurt you at all. I just want to help you. There’s an ambulance coming and they’re going to make the itching go away,” Connor said slowly. He tried to hold Dillan’s wandering attention and maintain eye contact. He wanted the other android to focus.

He finally wrapped a hand around Dillan’s wrist, smearing the thirium along his own fingers and into his skin. He looked into Dillan’s familiar eyes as the skin pulled back on Connor’s hand.

** _[Initiating Interface…]_ **

** _[Preparing 0verride…]_ **

** _[Interface Accepted: 0verride Cancelled]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^16%]_ **

“You’re scared of me?” Dillan asked, his head turning slightly to the side as the interface connected and the transfer between them began.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Connor said.

** _[Stress Levels: ^18%]_ **

Connor gripped just a bit tighter on Dillan’s arm. He was the one in control, he wasn’t having a mental health crisis, he wasn’t tearing into his body, he should be focusing on calming and sedating the PL600 through interface, relaxed and easy. Non-threatening. Dillan shouldn’t have to focus to see anything in Connor’s head.

When Connor pushed forth a feeling of calm, Dillan’s hands dropped from the air and he leaned back against the glass. His already low stress levels ticked down further. Round eyes stared straight into Connor’s, no longer drifting distractedly.

** _[Scanning “PL600”...]_ **

** _[8tre$$ £e2els: “PL600”: 2%]_ **

** _[E&&0r]_ **

** _[€am4ge D37ec+ed: “PL600”]_ **

** _[7hi&ium Lo$$ €37ec7ed “PL600”]_ **

** _[E&&0r]_ **

** _[7hi&iu3 £e2els: “PL600”: v62%]_ **

** _[Sh07+€own “PL600”: 00:34:17]_ **

** _[E&&0r]_ **.

Dillan pulled his arm closer to his chest and dragged Connor closer with it. His nose wrinkled but his hand darted out and grabbed the front of Connor’s button down. Dillan pulled him closer, tilting his mouth up to Connor’s ear.

** _[Stress Levels: ^24%]_ **

** _[E&&0r]_ **

“I need to get it out. It’s in my blood I need to get it all out,” Dillan whispered. He didn’t let go of Connor. Instead, he leaned forward and laid his head on Connor’s shoulder.

** _[Thirium C0ntamination: 00.22%]_ **

** _[7hi&iu3 C0n+4min4ti0n: 08.47%]_ **


	10. Chapter 10

Connor picked at a loose string of his jeans. It was his favorite pair, one he wore as often as he could. The fabric was starting to come apart just slightly. The loose strand was distracting. He was tempted to tug it out so it would look tidy again despite knowing it would further degrade his jeans. The small black thread poked out near his knee, close to where his hand rested on his thigh. It was far too noticeable and the temptation was beyond control.

He wrapped the thread around his forefinger and promptly plucked it out.

** _[Stress Levels: 13%]_ **

** _[Tell Dr. Harper Ab0ut The Attack]_ **

** _[Tell Dr. Harper Ab0ut His Fluctu4ting Stress]_ **

** _[Tell Dr. Harper Ab0ut The Substance]_ **

** _[Tell Dr. Harper That He W4s Fine]_ **

** _[Say N0thing]_ **

The silence lingered in the air and Connor focused on the seam of his jeans, now slightly loosened. There must be a needle and thread somewhere in Hank’s cluttered garage, or in one of the drawers Connor was still desperately trying to organize. He could repair the damage he had just done.

“Take your time, you have the whole hour to think of something to say,” Dr Harper said as Connor’s silence dragged on

** _[Time Remaining: 00:48:17]_ **

Connor would be content to spend the rest of his allotted time in silence. His stress was low, he was fine. Connor felt a numbness in his head and in his chest but he felt the fabric of his jeans under his fingers and it was distracting enough. He felt the tightness of his shoes squeezing his toes. His lips felt dry, his tongue kept darting out to dampen them. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

“But also keep in mind that I can’t clear you without having an actual conversation with you first,” She continued.

“I understand how this is supposed to work,” Connor said quickly.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Thirium C0ntamination: 00.37%]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: 13%]_ **

“Is there anything you want to talk about? Anything significant in your life?” The doctor was trying to ease into the conversation. He wouldn’t discuss the attack at the moment, so she was trying to find a safer way to begin discussion. Connor understood all of it. He just didn’t care.

He had used the last of it that morning. The upcoming session with the department's therapist had weighed heavily on his mind and Connor had recently discovered that if he took only a little bit at a time there would be no blackouts in his memory and his stress levels would drop significantly. He needed to be as relaxed as possible for this session. It was vital that Connor return to his regular duties as quickly as possible.

But now he didn’t have any more. He had run out. The thought bothered him more than he thought it would. The distractions it brought, the feeling of touch and all the physical sensations it brought made it easy to forget about everything else.

** _[Err0r]_ **

“There has been a recent shift in android cases coming in that has me concerned. They have been behaving erratically, destroying parts of themselves. It started two days ago, but there have been more. Five in total had appeared the past few days who were delirius or confused to the point of concern. Minor instances of self harm. Only one had to be hospitalized.” Connor listed off the details of the case. It was the DPD’s on call therapist, he was supposed to talk about work stress. 

“And you’re worried there’s a connection?” Dr. Harper asked.

Connor nodded. “It’s clear there’s been a connection. The symptoms are all very similar. However, everyone has been hesitant to discuss the situation with police. I’m going to New Jericho today to have a discussion with the android from the first case.”

** _[Err0r]_ **

It was easier to discuss the case and pretend he was talking to a fellow officer. If a simple, calm conversation was all that he needed them Connor could oblige. He could appear normal. He was calm. Connor didn’t care about anything else at the moment. It was a blessing, being able to turn numb and focus on the soothing sensation of his fingertips running along the sewn lines of his jeans.

He needed to stay calm for when he spoke with Dillan. Something about that first case sat heavy in his mind. The interface had been overwhelming. It was almost impossible to decode, the system far too corrupted to be comprehended. Connor had been ignoring the discrepancies in his own system, the errors that always danced across his HUD. It was from the damage to his head. It had started immediately after the attack. These other androids almost seemed infected by a disease.

** _[Stress Levels: ^16%]_ **

“How do you feel about going to New Jericho? Has it been long since you’ve last visited?” Dr. Harper asked.

“Not since my last trip to the infirmary, though I trust that Dillan has received exceptional care,” Connor said with a nod.

“I’m certain the androids at New Jericho are treating him well,” Connor said.

“Compared to the care you received?”

“I was treated fine,” Connor said.

“Given the circumstances of your repairs, it would be understandable if being there was scary,” Dr. Harper said. She tapped the end of her pen gently against her notebook.

She was a human doctor and Connor was likely her first android client. Was she fooled by the slow blue spin of his LED and his blank, calm demeanor? Did she even believe he was alive? Maybe he was fascinating to her, a broken machine with a damaged, simulated psyche.

** _[Stress Levels: ^18%]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

“I wasn’t afraid. I had no reason to be,” Connor said.

“Would you say you’re comfortable around other androids?” Dr. Harper asked.

“I trusted them enough to receive care. Do you think Dillan is frightened there? Should we move him to ensure his cooperation in the investigation?” Connor said, his mind running off with conclusions about what the doctor was implying. One thought led to the next and Connor couldn’t focus enough to stop it.

“I’m not talking about Dillan, I’m talking about you,” Dr. Harper said.

Connor nodded at the obvious. This wasn’t a fellow officer to unravel his thoughts on the cases. This was the therapist who needed to clear him for duty.

“I was perfectly comfortable,” Connor said.

** _[Err0r]_ **

“You had no issues?”

“No,” Connor said.

“And you found your repairs satisfying?” Dr. Harper said.

“I found them to be withstanding.”

“You don’t think it's frustrating at all? Or that you’re relieved? Many people have strong emotions so soon after a traumatic incident.”

Connor looked at the woman. Her brown hair was pulled back in a messy bun, she wore a blazer over a t-shirt, the words far too faded for him to read. Her fingernails were painted a bright, attention grabbing red as she spun the pen in her hand and then resumed her tapping. Her eyes felt like they were drilling into Connor’s head, right near his LED, which he made sure stayed a calm blue.

“My repairs were necessary,” Connor said.

“And the events leading up to it? The actual damage and assault, was that necessary?” She asked.

“No.”

It was the obvious answer. Connor squeezed his hands into tight fists, digging his nails into the soft skin of his palm. The pain was minor, a stinging at the end of his fingers, almost as if he had burned himself. He focused on the pain. Even as minor as it was now it still overwhelmed him, stealing his focus and attention.

** _[Stress Levels: v14%]_ **

** _[0bjective: Av0id Further Dam4ge]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[C0nflicting 0bjectives]_ **

He felt like he was lying. In a normal circumstance, being attacked would have been entirely unnecessary. The damage would have been unnecessary. The pain and the fear and all that came with it was unnecessary. Connor’s circumstances were different. There was a reason he was attacked. There was a reason for everything that had happened. He deserved it. He was being punished. He deserved more.

Connor broke away from his thoughts with a flinch. He didn’t like dwelling on all of his sins and his mistakes. He didn’t want to think about who would come to hurt him next for what he had done.

“I have to go,” Connor said.

** _[Time Remaining: 00:32:38]_ **

“So soon? We still have half an hour.” Dr. Harper said, stating the obvious.

“Yes, but I had a scheduling error. I trust you gathered what you need?” Connor said. He was already pushing himself to stand. He didn’t like being here with this woman. He didn’t like the things she made him think about.

“I didn’t. We will need to reschedule,” Dr. Harper said calmly.

Connor’s hands curled up tighter, nails digging in deeper, and the pain seemed to move up his arm. He didn’t want to have to come back here. He didn’t want another session. It was hard to forget that something awful had happened when he wasn’t allowed to return to the way things were before. Connor missed work.

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 39%]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: v12%]_ **

He didn’t bother with any other sort of goodbye. His arms were shaking from the tension built up in his grip, the spasm of pain shooting up into his shoulder from his incompatible arm. It had stopped calibrating, the connections refused to get any stronger and it still refused to move and feel the way he wanted it to. Despite the pain from tension or when Connor couldn’t stop himself from picking at the uneven plates, it just felt numb. Except when the substance filtered out of his thirium and he went back to feeling nothing. He didn’t want to feel nothing. Then he would be stuck with the lines of faulty coding and misconnections that stopped him from moving it properly.

Connor had to pass through the main bullpen to exit the station. Despite Dr. Harper’s office tucked in the far back away from where any suspects or criminals would pass through to be booked, interrogated, and detained, Connor still had to pass by the desks for the quickest way out of the building. He had hoped without a chance of success that Hank wouldn’t notice him.

He could have been more careful. Looking back, Connor could have had a clear path around Hank’s line of sight if he had stopped to think about anything other than escape. It was a mistake he shouldn’t have made.

“What are you doing? You were barely in there,” Hank said quickly. His expression was pinched in annoyance.

“I need to get to New Jericho,” Connor said.

“You’re supposed to be with the shrink,” Hank said quickly.

** _[Stress Levels: 12%]_ **

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 39%]_ **

** _[New Objective: Talk To Dillan]_ **

“I need to go to New Jericho. I have been asked to speak to the PL600 that took apart his abdomen a few days ago,” Connor said. It was a good reason. Connor knew there was no point for Hank to argue with this excuse.

“That couldn’t fucking wait until after you goddamn thing with the doctor?” Hank’s volume dropped slightly as if to preserve Connor’s privacy. As if everyone in the precinct didn’t know everything about it.

Connor’s attention drifted around, catching dozens of eyes that were looking his way. All of them quickly darted away. They didn’t want to be caught gawking at him.

** _[Thirium C0ntamination: 00.37%]_ **

“I need to speak to the PL600,” Connor said. He kept his tone calm.

Hank huffed, his body tense. His hands had curled into fists and Connor knew his body was just as wound up. His arm was burning. The edges felt like they were pressing against his skin.

“Connor, you need a therapist,” Hank said.

** _[Stress Levels: v10%]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Tell H4nk Not To W0rry]_ **

** _[Accuse H4nk Of Exaggerating]_ **

** _[Call H4nk A Hyp0crite]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“Out of the two of us, you're more in need of therapy.” Connor said.

“I know but I’ve been dealing with my shit for years, you're not dealing with your shit at all,” Hank said.

“Drowning yourself in alcohol doesn’t constitute ‘dealing with it’.” Connor said. His shoulders felt tense, so tight he didn’t think he could move.

His body felt so strange. He wondered if it was always like this, so tight and tense that he ached. Perhaps he only truly felt it now, and before he was just blind to it. His arms felt stiff, the incompatible bicomponent throbbing with burning pain and his fingernails digging so hard into his palms a new damage alert flashed before his eyes.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[W4rning!: Damage Detected]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: v8%]_ **

The pain was overwhelming, tuning almost everything out. He didn’t understand why his body felt like this over such minor damage.

“I need to go to New Jericho,” Connor said again.

Hank huffed, letting out a deep breath he had been holding in. “Fine, but youre going to talk to the android doctors while we’re there.” His voice was tight and his jaw snapped shut as soon as he was done speaking. He was angry. Hank was angry with him. Connor’s fingers twitched and his nails dug deeper.

Connor nodded.

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

** _[Scanning For Damage…]_ **

** _[No New Damage Detected]_ **

They walked quickly to Hank’s car without another word to one another. Connor felt sick, his stomach was tense and churning. 

** _[Accessing Mem0ry...]_ **

** _[Mem0ry Blocked]_ **

** _[4ttempting 4dmin Override...]_ **

** _[“I can’t get his fucking jaw open!”]_ **

One of Connor’s hands reached up to press against his chin, fingers prodding along his jawline, digging in. It ached. Everything hurt. Everything. His fingers felt like they were cracking as he moved them. His chest was constricting, caving in against his thirium pump.

He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in air through his nose. He shouldn’t have opened the memory. Everything was locked behind a simple memory block, stopping the memories from automatically surfacing. It was his own mistake for overriding it. The pain wasn’t real, it was a distraction.

Connor leaned his head against the car window and hummed. When there was pain, he didn’t have to think about anything else. He could focus on the human feeling of sickness and pain from injuries that had been replaced away. The pain wasn’t real, his scans came back negative again and again for injury, but he still had to feel it all the same.

“Are you okay?” Hank asked.

“I’m fine,” Connor said.

“That’s bullshit,” Hank said.

Connor wrinkled his nose and pushed up from the window, straightening himself in his seat. He was shaking slightly. The pain was still strumming through the wires of his body. It was curling around him.

“I pulled up some memories of that night and I’m having an adverse physical reaction. My stress levels remain low, however, so I think I’m fine,” Connor said. 

Hank scoffed, his grip shifting on the steering wheel. “The memories come up because of the therapist?”

“I don’t believe so. Dr. Harper wanted to discuss my medical care after the attack,” Connor said.

“Really? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said. His eyes drifted down to his hands folded on his lap. He turned to glance out the window and then stared straight ahead. He wasn’t looking at anything, he just didn’t want to catch Hank’s eye. “She wanted to know if I was comfortable around the androids when I was being repaired after the attack.”

Hank hummed. “Were you?”

“Was I?”

“You know! Were you comfortable?” Hank said.

Connor shrugged. “I had to undergo necessary repairs. It’s not something I would have prefered to do.”

“But it would be normal to feel, you know, afraid about being there. If that’s how you felt?” Hank’s voice had slowed down, his tone calm. Each word crept out of his mouth with caution.

“I wasn’t afraid,” Connor said. He shook his head lightly.

“You were attacked by androids. You've always kept away from Jericho in the past and now you're begging me go take you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you never have mentioned any android friends. Even before all this it seems like you’re kinda scared of them.” 

Hank kept talking. Connor huffed lightly as he rubbed his hands up and down his leg. He pressed down hard, focusing on the feeling of pressure and the friction against his palms.

“I’m not afraid. They all hate me,” Connor said.

** _[Stress Levels: 8%]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

“They hate you?” Hank asked.

“Don’t be upset. It’s perfectly reasonable for them to hate me after everything I had done. Most androids have simply left me alone,” Connor said. 

“Except for the ones who attacked you?” Hank asked.

** _[Accessing Mem0ry...]_ **

** _[Mem0ry Blocked]_ **

“Yes, except for them. I’m not afraid of androids. Dr. Harper’s line of questioning was irrelevant so I left the session early,” Connor said.

Hank had been a wonderful distraction. The waves of pain had passed and his stress was still very low. He was fine. Connor was able to take several clear, deep breaths. His mind felt like it wasn’t rushing through thoughts anymore. Somehow he felt more put together and yet completely worn out and falling apart all at once. He had never felt like so many things all at the same time before. It was exhausting.

“You’ve felt like this since the revolution? All this time?” Hank asked.

“No. I’m not afraid,” Connor said.

“All the androids that you woke up from the tower, certainly they don’t hate you. You’re a hero!”

Connor grimaced at the words. They were grating against his ears. They were banging around inside his head. They all felt wrong, wrong, wrong.

** _[Err0r]_ **

Every android in Detroit knew what and who he was. He was responsible for a few hundred being gunned down in their hideout, all of them just wanting safety and freedom. Then a few hours later he marched a few thousand out of the tower. He had hoped it was a fair trade, but the new deviants had learned from the androids who either watched Connor’s atrocities on the news or had survived them in person. When everyone knew what he had done it was natural for many to believe it unforgivable, but he had hoped all the distance he had put between himself and New Jericho meant they had forgotten him.

“Isn’t Markus or anyone doing anything to help you?” Hank asked.

He seemed really engrossed with the information Connor had given him.

“Besides recently, none of the leaders had spoken to me. You asked Josh to look in on me,” Connor said.

“And what, they’ve been ignoring you before that?” Hank said quickly. His facial expression seemed pinched.

“It’s better if I leave them alone. They’ll never forgive me,” Connor said.

“None of what happened was your fault,” Hank said.

“It was though. Do you remember the PL600?”

“The one I’m taking you to see right now? How the fuck is that your fault?” Hank said quickly.

The sudden rush of hostile anger laced in Hank’s voice made Connor smile. Despite their problems, their constant bickering and arguing, Hank was still ready to defend him. Despite how they always seemed at odds, Connor still had a place to sleep on Hank’s couch and a friend on his side.

** _[Err0r]_ **

“No, at Stratford Tower. The PL600 that shot himself in the head while I tried to probe his memory,” Connor said slowly. He knew Hank remembered. Connor remembered it every day. “Simon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments!
> 
> Dillan survived, mentions of more strange android cases, and Connor, faced with a stressful psych eval decided to keep doing the stuff


	11. Chapter 11

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

Dillan had been fully repaired. Of course he had been. The infirmary of New Jericho had been fully equipped and the workers extensively trained on android relairs. Connor had only needed major repairs the one time and it was not a memory file he brought up often.

Hank stood by Connor’s side as they peered into the window of Dillan’s room. He hadn’t been discharged despite the repairs. Josh wouldn’t give Connor a reason. 

“He’s not legally required to answer anything, especially about his medical care. I told him you were coming though and he did refuse to have anyone else in the room, but I wanted to make that clear,” Josh said. His eyes lingered more on Hank than Connor. “He just wants to talk to Connor.”

“That will probably be for the best if we wanted to successfully get a statement,” Connor said.

Hank shrugged. He was looking through the window at Dillan as well. With his repairs done, he was like any other average PL600. His shortly cut blonde hair was standard. His eyes were a soft blue, his demeanor meek, designed to be perfectly acceptable in improving on a human’s day to day life. He was supposed to look calming. Connor kept seeing flashes of blue. Blotches of it staining the skin, dying light colored hair. He had never met a PL600 who was not bleeding out on the verge of death and it was strange to no longer see Dillan that way.

“Remember, this isn’t regarding the reason for his arrest, this is regarding his behavior afterwards, so please treat him with dignity and respect,” Josh’s tone was firm. This time his attention was entirely on Connor now that it was established Hank would not be going into the room.

** _[Err0r]_ **

This was entirely different from how their last meeting had gone. Besides a few messages sent remotely, Connor hadn’t spoken to Josh since immediately after the attack. He remembered the stress, the shame, and the discrepancies detected from the contamination that had not been scanned properly. And yet Josh was the one he had told about the substance, about the androids prying open his mouth to give it to him. Josh had said he wanted them to be friends and yet that conversation was weeks ago. Now they weren’t friends, Connor was just an officer interviewing an android in Josh’s care. Connor was someone Josh didn’t want here.

“Connor knows why he’s here,” Hank said.

Josh nodded.

“Yes. I trust him with this. Lieutenant Anderson, I can take you to a private room where you can wait undisturbed,” Josh said calmly. He offered a smile, one stiff but still polite. “And Connor, We can talk after.”

Connor nodded as well, mimicking the motion. Hank didn’t argue and followed Josh down the hall. He watched them go. ‘Undisturbed’ Josh had said, but Connor suspected the true reason was so no androids would walk by and see a human lingering in the infirmary. Connor wondered if anyone would be happy seeing him here either.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^13%]_ **

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

It would be best if he wasn’t seen. He knocked quickly on the door and then walked inside before he got a response. Dillan’s eyes darted to him, then they seemed to drift past him as the door shut.

“I thought you were Josh,” Dillan said, his expression pinched.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Connor said.

Dillan smiled, “You’re okay. I’m relieved you’re not. He’s been annoying.”

Connor returned the smile. He wanted to agree, but he wasn’t here to talk about Josh. He was here for work, he was here to be professional, and he couldn’t afford to have his mind wander. He should ask about why Dillan had done it. It had only been a few days since Dillan had attempted to pull apart his abdomen in a holding cell. And he had been calm while doing so. He had been insistent in his goal to dig deep inside himself.

Connor slowly walked closer to where Dillan sat. A small table with two chairs was sitting by a window, the sunlight was coming through and it made Dillan’s skin give off a warm glow. He almost looked healthy, human.

** _[Accessing Mem0ry...]_ **

Dillan’s face had many memories associated with it in Connor’s head. Daniel, Simon, and now Dillan. PL600s were thirium stained in his mind, they were scared, backed into a corner, while Connor stood by or even helped the humans torment them. Even Dillan, in a holding cell with the officers gathered around, ripping into himself.

“I was wondering if I was gonna see you again. I’ve been thinking about you a lot while I’ve been here,” Dillan said. He was still smiling. His tone of voice was steady, more focused than it was a few days prior. “You're the last android I expected to be doing this sort of thing.”

“I came to talk to you about when we met last time. How are you feeling?” Connor asked. He stood next to the table.

Dillan looked at the chair across from him. The room wasn’t a traditional hospital room. There were no special pumps or machines. There was no medical equipment or scanners. The room had a simple bed in the center, the table and chairs by the window, and several other small comfort items.

“Sit,” Dillan said.

Connor nodded and took a seat. He needed Dillan to talk to him, the best way to do that was if they were comfortable with one another.

“Did you bring me any? I would feel a lot better if you brought me some,” Dillan said.

** _[Err0r]_ **

“What did you want me to bring?” Connor asked.

Dillan wrinkled his nose, turning to glance out the window outside and then towards the window looking out into the hallway. There were many places to peer in and out of the room and Dillan seemed to check each one. Connor waited, watching each of Dillan’s movements as he looked around. 

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

Connor pressed his hand over his thirium pump, leaning his weight against it, trying to feel if the casing was cracked still. Broken. There was no pain there. 

“We interfaced. I saw it. I felt it. Don’t play dumb with me so just tell me if you brought some or not,” Dillan said with more urgency, the smile slipping away. “It’s been days. They won’t let me have any.”

It wasn’t difficult to figure out what Dillan meant.

** _[Thirium C0ntamination: 00.37%]_ **

“I didn’t bring any,” Connor said. “I actually came to ask you about why you tried to take apart your stomach at the station.”

Dillan stood up, the palms of his hands pressing into his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Everyone knows you’re not stupid.”

He was pacing. Dillan walked towards the door and then back to the window. His eyes turned back to Connor, eyebrows pulled together and his mouth set in a frown. He walked up to the table with his fists curled, stopped, and then turned around again.

“I’m not trying to be stupid,” Connor said.

“Yes, you are. Everyone is right about you! Worthless. I’ve been waiting and you were supposed to bring some to me! You’re the one who got them asking questions and now you won’t even bring me any?” 

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[W4rning: Scanning f0r Danger…]_ **

“I just ran out actually. And I don’t know much about it, other than the effects it has. I don’t even know what it’s called. Does it have anything to do with why you did that to yourself?” Connor said.

“Why? Are you scared?”

There was a roaring in his head, it flowed over him like rushing water. It filled his ears, muffling out the world. It was something negative, something that made his stomach curl and twist as if he wanted to vomit. There was nothing in his stomach to expel but he still felt the need anyway. There was something painful inside of him, trying to force itself out. He kept his eyes on Dillan, so much energy shaking itself out of him as he paced the room. Connor had never seen an android with so many nervous ticks before.

“I’m not afraid, I just want to know how dangerous it is,” Connor said. It was obvious that there was a connection. Despite the corrupted code, Connor could still feel Dillan’s thirium contamination through the interface.

“Yeah, you’re scared. Don’t worry, I just took too much and got confused. It’s my fault, it’s not dangerous. So, if you wanted to get more, we could do it together. Just a little bit, so it doesn’t get out of hand. I’ll put in a good word for you with everyone else. Sound fair,” Dillan said. He was begging.

** _[Stress Levels: ^15%]_ **

Connor’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. The amount of desperation dripping from Dillan’s tone was enough to drown in. None of it made sense to him.

** _[Scanning “PL600”...]_ **

Dillan’s body language was erratic. His mood was unstable with a wild look in his eyes. Dillan could hurt him. If he wanted to, if Connor angered him at all, then Dillan could rip him apart. He reached up, laying his hand against his forehead, and pressing down hard enough to make the skin program stutter against the uneven plating of his head. It was the substance, the contaminant, whatever it was that made everything in his mind get drowned out by just physical sensation. Even pain. Pain made everything in his head go quiet. Most of the time Connor found that it gave him some sense of relaxed peace. And yet Dillan’s mind was anything but peaceful.

The connections were too obvious to ignore. The disorientation was familiar. The instability. The androids who attacked him had behaved in a similar way. Androids were not designed to have such a severe lack of focus. How severely had this been affecting Connor? Was he as clearly unstable or had he not done enough?

“Why would you do that to yourself?” Connor whispered softly. “Wouldn’t it hurt? Wouldn’t the pain be too much? Wouldn’t it make you want to stop?”

“It hurt, but I didn’t care,” Dillan said. He nodded, head bobbing up and down. There was a hint of a smile on his face. “Isn’t that what you want? To not care?”

** _[Err0r]_ **

Connor stood up, his eyes roaming around the small room. It had been days since Dillan was brought here for repairs and yet they hadn’t discharged him. When Connor was repaired, they sent him away almost instantly. They didn’t give him a room to stay in. He hadn’t been unstable. Still, it’s been days and Dillan was still here. Was it permanent?

“I have all I need,” Connor said quickly. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” Dillan said and wrinkled his nose. “And then you’ll come back? You said you were out, so if you get some you’ll come get. You’ll share, you’re nice like that. You better come back.”

His tone was still demanding. Connor was too afraid to argue, too worried of what Dillan would say about his intentions. Connor would make his report. Androids are at risk of consuming something that could potentially cause them to harm themselves and the police had to be ready for it. Androids weren’t used to altering their states of mind. He couldn’t do that anymore.

He needed to protect the other androids. He slipped out of Dillan’s room and stood in the hallway. It was empty. The air felt still. He sucked in a deep breath and held his arms out in front of him. There was some soft shimmering in the skin projection of his arms. How much of it was from the attack and subpar repairs? How much was from when Connor caught himself digging his nails into the uneven plating and tugging on it? Picking at it. He was worried. Was it possible he had damaged himself?

He couldn’t do it again. He was out, all he had to do was just not get any more. He needed to report his findings, no one needed to know what he had done.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^19%]_ **

** _[Warning!: Thirium C0ntamination: v00.34%]_ **

No one could know.

“Connor, did you find out anything?” Josh’s voice cut through the clouds in Connor’s mind. He flinched, pulling his hands close.

Josh’s eyes narrowed, drifting up and down Connor. One of his hands lifted up, reaching out to Connor, before quickly dropping back to his side. Connor nodded. He would rather Josh didn’t touch him. He didn’t want to feel the other android’s hands.

“I have enough to make an informed report to the DPD,” Connor said.

“Can you report anything to me about what’s happening?” Josh asked.

“I can’t share important, confidential information on any active investigations.”

“I know. I just need to know if my people are at risk. This isn’t the first case I’ve seen. What avenues are the DPD considering? A virus? A malware attack?” Josh’s voice dropped to a whisper.

Connor could lie. He could say nothing to Josh, one of the few who Connor had discussed the substance with. He had asked Josh to ask around and he had. What would he say if Connor told him he had done it again and again? And this morning as well, when he wanted to calm his nerves.

** _[Stress Levels: ^22%]_ **

“It’s the paste. Extended use seems to be causing androids to become disoriented to the point of self-harm. It seems to have rather intense mind altering qualities when taken for extended periods of time. I’m not sure how long this has been in circulation before we became aware of it,” Connor said quickly. There were too many grey areas in regards to android laws. There were no controlled substances in android circulation at this time. Connor wasn’t sure how he should proceed as no protocol had covered a situation such as this. He needed more information. “You said there were previous cases?”

Josh nodded slowly. “Similar. We couldn’t find a known cause. We always assumed it was psychological. Most of the androids had seemed...troubled.”

“You didn’t think to scan their thirium for contamination?” Connor asked.

“There was never a reason to believe there would be anything like that,” Josh said.

“You should start checking. We can see how widespread the problem might be. And I would like the files on the past cases.”

Josh shook his head quickly, hands waving in front of him. “I can’t give those to you. That’s all private information, I’m sure you understand.”

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[W4rning: Scanning f0r Danger…]_ **

“Of course. I understand,” Connor said.

He stepped back, eyes lingering on the hands in the space between them, the fingers spread slightly apart. They were held low, at waist level, and it wasn't a good position to try and hit him but if there was a knife it would be perfect to cause harm. Josh did not have a knife so he wasn’t sure why he had considered the possibility.

** _[Prob4bility 0f Danger: L0w]_ **

“What about you?” Josh said.

“I have shared with you all the information that I can. First, I must speak to Captain Fowler,” Connor said.

“Okay, but what about you? How are you feeling?” Josh asked. He waved his hands again, small circles in the air, as if to find the words there. “I know it’s been weeks, but has it done anything? Are you okay?”

Connor blinked, his jaw clenched together tightly. Josh thought he had only taken it once. He wanted to know if there was any long term lasting damage from just one use. Connor didn’t know. He didn’t even know he had any damage right now, after all the time he had tried it.

** _[The Truth]_ **

** _[Lie]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^25%]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

“Yes, I’m fine,” Connor said.

He blinked as the error filled his vision. It stared at him. It was a mystery. It could be from the damage, the incompatible parts had too many misconnections that kept misfiring. His body didn’t feel right anymore. His right arm calibration sat at an unsatisfying 39% and hadn’t changed in almost a week. It was stuck there. Less than half of his original capabilities.

“The repairs have been withstanding. I haven’t had any major issues. I feel fine,” Connor said.

Josh frowned, his hands dropping to his side. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Josh turned and looked down the hallway. There was no one there. Connor scanned the area and didn’t sense anyone coming towards them. They were alone.

“You know, you can stay?”

Connor let the words linger a moment between them.

“I can’t,” Connor said.

“Yes. It’ll be safer for you here. Just in case this turns into something serious,” Josh said.

“In which case my place would be with the DPD, where my skills would be most at use. What would you all do with me here?” Connor said. Too many possibilities displayed themselves as an automatic reconstruction ran. He did not want to be here. They all hated him too much for him to be safe here.

“We would have you close by in a crisis. If this is as serious as you fear then it’ll be best if you're here with us. We don’t know how the humans will react to this.” Josh said.

He glanced again down the hallway and Connor understood what he was seeking out. He had taken Hank that way. A human. Josh was nervous about the human that Connor had brought, which made no sense given that Hank was the one who asked Josh to look in on him after the incident. And Josh was the one to come to Hank’s house to see him. It had to be a trick. Some sort of trap to get him here alone. A twinge of discomfort radiated from his forehead, the broken plating felt like it was pressing against his skin. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch it.

** _[Stress Levels: ^28%]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

“I trust in the police department. I have faith that we will be able to find answers to the situation at hand,” Connor said.

He didn’t want to tell Josh that he trusted the police more than he trusted New Jericho. Connor’s hand pressed against his forehead, leaning heavily against the misaligned seems under his skin.

“But news of androids destroying themselves while being influenced with an unknown compound will be shocking. No one expected Androids to have drugs,” Josh said insistently.

Connor hummed. “That is what it seems like, isn’t it.”

He needed to go home. He stepped around Josh in a few quick steps and made his way towards the hallway. He saw a long series of closed doors, eyebrows drawn in frustration.

** _[Err0r]_ **

He needed to leave. He needed to find Hank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor has decided that drugs are bad and he needs to stop and alert the proper authorities. Too bad he is the authorities and had also decided to keep his own drug use a secret. Im sure that will work out fine
> 
> :)
> 
> Thank you for comments


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I updated.

** _[Stress Levels: 58%]_ **

Connor wasn’t surprised Fowler gave them the case. A new designer drug focused in androids was not something any of the officers at the station had ever dealt with before. For half of them, Connor was the only android they interacted with regularly. He was the one with the most experience with androids. Hank had spent years on the Red Ice task force. There was a shrinking certainty Connor had about whether or not he even wanted the case. He was strictly on desk duty until he was officially cleared by Dr. Harper. In his opinion, Connor was mostly useless at this point. He, the android, would be the best to chase leads. Connor was allowed to turn it away. There was an expectation of him to do it and he didn’t want to let anyone down, but Connor’s stress had started to strum through him the more he and Hank had to sit and talk about it. He wasn’t like Dillan. In the days since he had interviewed Dillan and handed the information to the DPD, Connor had tried to ignore the dropping thirium contamination. He wasn’t obsessed to the point of mania. But the longer he went without it the more Connor missed the physical feeling of everything. The papers under his fingers. The weight of his jacket. Sumo’s fur.

His stress levels also slowly climbed the longer they sat at their desks across from one another, discussing possible leads. Connor had one. He knew where he could find more. Harley, the JB300 he had met at the 7-Eleven. He had only met Harley there once though Connor went back often. He liked the walk. Part of Connor wanted to tell Hank about the JB300 he had gotten the substance from. He wanted to take Hank to the address he was given. The case would go so much smoother if he did. But he just listened to Hank name off his plan to send it to the labs and then he wanted to interview Dillan’s friends from his current residence. Connor had already expressed Jericho’s hesitation to provide open access to any medical patients they receive who fit the pattern.

“What about you?” Hank asked.

“I don’t have any further leads,” Connor said. He was a lie. Harley was a strong lead. Harley could get Connor more. For the case. And the presence of a human would make the other androids uncomfortable.

“No, I mean when you took it,” Hank said. He tapped mindlessly at his terminal, clicking through the evidence they have acquired on their newly formed case.

** _[Stress Levels: ^61%]_ **

“When I took it?” Connor repeated. It took a moment to process what Hank had meant. A few times flashed before his eyes, bits of clear paste pinched between his fingers, the bitter taste under his tongue. Hank only knew of the one time. The first time. “My experience was quite extreme. I don’t think it’ll be helpful information.”

Hank hummed, nodding slowly. “But are you going to be alright with this investigation considering what happened to you?”

Connor hummed, his fingers curling into the fabric of his pants and gripping tightly. Hank wasn’t concerned about the drugs so much as Connor’s emotional state relating to his attack. His unsolved assault. There was an urge to reach up and press against his jaw. The rewired structure, completely pieced back together again, felt all wrong. His teeth felt crooked and out of line. He felt a pull at his cords.

“The memories are uncomfortable but I can control myself,” Connor said. It was a silent promise to himself. He could control himself.

** _[Err0r]_ **

** _[Thirium Contamination: 00.07%]_ **

It had been days since he had seen Dillan. He was proving that he could control himself. His code felt like it was straightening itself out again, being pulled smooth so tightly that it squeezed around him. There were hardly any more glitches on his HUD and soon the contaminant would be completely filtered out. The clarity made him itch. It fizzled around the damaged parts of himself. The last spare traces of physical sensation left in his body made him want to dig his nails into the already nicked and pulled slightly up and away from where they connected. He hadn’t picked at it in a while. Connor could control himself. He wasn’t like Dillan. He wouldn’t end up propped up against the wall with his arm digging around in his abdominal cavity. The itching hadn’t been nearly bad enough for him to do that. It hadn’t made him forget his sense.

“Your thing is flashing red,” Hank said, tapping his temple.

Connor reached up and quickly covered his LED. The colors had been more erratic the last few days. He found himself less able to hide the quick flash whenever his mind got preoccupied. His fingers pressed in. They dug into the side of his forehead. He didn’t like Hank seeing him like this, Connor was tired of always having something wrong with him. He wished he wasn’t always the one with the problems.

“I told you. Uncomfortable,” Connor said.

“Memories like that aren’t uncomfortable. They’re painful,” Hank said.

His voice pulled at something in Connor’s head.

“Android’s don’t feel pain, Hank.” Connor said.

“Well, apparently that’s not true anymore,” Hank said with a shrug. “You trying to tell me that you felt pain for the first time in a situation like that and it didn’t actually bother you? What did Dr. Harper say again?

“She said our meeting was inconclusive. I told you this,” Connor said, his nose wrinkling. He shifted again in his seat. He felt strange, several physical sensations pulling at his body.

“Have you rescheduled?” Hank asked.

“No.”

“You probably should,” Hank said.

“I know.”

“Since you’re not dealing with it.”

Hank kept talking. He kept adding something. He kept having an opinion on something that wasn’t his business. Connor turned towards the small bit of case files displayed on the computer terminal and tried to ignore the concerned look in Hank’s eyes as he watched Connor.

“We should focus on the case at hand,” Connor said.

“As if it has nothing to do with you?” Hank asked.

** _[Stress Levels: ^63%]_ **

“It doesn’t! It has nothing to do with me.” Connor felt something hot bubbling in his stomach. He thought he might feel it burning, but the sensation felt deep. It felt unreachable and so muffled he didn’t think there was really a fire there at all.

“I just think maybe the case should go to someone who isn’t involved. There will be other cases and you’ve clearly been upset the last few weeks since it happened.” Hank’s voice was gentle. It had stayed calm and each word came out slow and patient.

It was irritation that was pooling in Connor’s stomach. He felt transparent. He didn’t like feeling Hank looked straight through him and called him out on his hypocrisy. Connor used a few days ago and now he was leading the case into the world's first mind altering drug for androids. He hated that Connor’s business always had to be touched on. He always needed to be checked in with. Hank couldn’t trust him to handle it himself.

“I just don’t think that you're as ready to deal with this as you think you are,” Hank said slowly.

** _[Tell Hank To Mind His Own Business]_ **

** _[Tell Hank T0 Shut Up]_ **

** _[Tell Hank He Didn’t Know What He Was Talking About]_ **

** _[Tell Hank-_ **

“I don’t think you’re a good judge of what I can and can’t handle. You can’t even manage that for yourself,” Connor snapped. He wished he was at least given the chance to prove he was fine. He was an advanced prototype developed for police work. He could handle a drug case.

Hank’s eyes narrowed. “I’m worried about you.”

“Worry about yourself,” Connor said.

He stood up, energy coursing through his body. He shouldn’t be as tightly strung as he was. His mind was clear, his body felt numb. It was a stark contrast of how he felt before. A few days ago the contamination in his thirium was more concentrated. His mind felt quiet. His thoughts would skip and together until he couldn’t keep track of what was on his mind. And every brush against his skin he had felt. Today was different. He felt wrong. He knew why but he didn’t want to say it.

The wrongness in his body wouldn't go away. It had been lingering for a while but now it was unavoidable. He could convince everyone that it was just because he was broken. The misshapen plates in his body didn’t fit right. His body was always wrong. Maybe that was what was bothering him. His body didn’t feel right because it wasn’t right anymore. It was hard to tell what parts of him were wrong because his body was broken and it’s irreversible or because his mind is too frayed by trauma or drugs or software errors.

** _[Stress Levels: ^65%]_ **

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

** _[Objective: Figure Out What Is Wrong With Me]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

Connor walked out of the station. He didn’t bother getting his coat despite the snow. He didn’t feel the cold as biting as he did a few days ago. It didn’t pierce his skin this time. He couldn’t tell if it was better or not. He understood that pain wasn’t good. It was supposed to be avoided. But Connor’s attention lingered on the temperature scanner because his body felt absolutely nothing. His hair blew back from his face in the wind and Connor couldn’t tell if that far away chill was real or just a ghost he had in his head. His whole body now felt so very empty where every touch and sensation he felt used to be. It felt like it was echoing inside of him.

He turned around. He was just a block away from the station. The snow was collecting on his shoulders and clinging to the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t feel cold.

** _[Running Diagnostics…]_ **

** _[Thirium Contamination: v00.06%]_ **

** _[Slight Body Temperature Decrease Detected]_ **

Just because he didn’t feel cold didn’t mean that he wasn’t. He was cold. He should feel cold. Connor huffed, a cloud of white frosty air appearing before him. There was no one on the street, not in any direction. The snow was coming down in fat, wet clumps. Everyone sensible was inside. Connor turned around again and continued to walk away from the station. He knew why he couldn’t feel cold. Androids weren’t supposed to feel cold. This was how he was supposed to be. If he went back to the station then Hank would know there was something wrong with him. He already thought Connor was broken. He already assumed he couldn’t focus on the case.

But Connor could focus on the case. He had a lead and Hank didn’t. Harley didn’t live far from Hank’s house and that was where he could get more. For the case. They could get it sent into the lab. They could know what exactly it was and how it affected an android. Connor would like to know what it could have done to him. What was so special about that it made an android feel things it wasn’t programmed or designed to feel. He pulled up the address he had been given and started his path in that direction. Harley had promised Connor that he would be able to get more.

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

It would be a mistake to go there. It could be a trap. They could have wanted to find a way to finish what had happened to him weeks ago. They wanted to bring him somewhere so no one would see. Connor reached up and pressed his hand flat against his forehead. With enough applied pressure, Connor was able to feel the skin begin to fizzle under his hand. He felt the misshapen plating that had been welded in place, still not quite laid down how it should be. His fingers traced over the ridges. He felt the lifted edge. His fingernail pressed against the ridge, trying to catch anywhere he could hold on and pull. His finger flicked off the plating when he tried to pick at it. It didn’t budge. Connor reached up to try again. It itched. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t really him. He needed it to get off of him.

** _[Inc0ming Call…]_ **

“Where did you go?” Hank said as the call connected, before Connor could even greet him.

“I’m on my way home. I promise, I’m alright.” Connor dropped his hands. He felt like he had been caught once again failing. He wasn’t like Dillan. Connor didn’t need it. He wasn’t going to destroy himself and pick apart because of it. There was a great sense of relief swelling in his chest when he remembered Hank couldn’t see him.

“Well, you never came back after you stormed off so I was worried something happened,” Hank said. His tone was flat and his words short and snippy. He was annoyed. Connor was familiar enough with Hank’s behaviors to know when he was bothering the man.

“You don’t have to check in on me,” Connor said.

“I know.”

“And I can handle the case. I’m not bothered by it,” Connor said. He needed to explain himself. He didn’t want Hank annoyed with him anymore. Connor paused his steps. Perhaps he should go back. He was already halfway home.

“It’s okay if there’s things you can’t handle, you know. If something is too much, especially this soon, and you haven’t actually had time to deal with it,” Hank said.

“I don’t need more time. I’m ready to move past this,” Connor said.

He heard Hank scoff. “There's a difference between moving on and pretending like it never happened.”

“Don’t pretend to be an expert in moving on,” Connor said. He felt more of his own irritation spike. He felt the anger burn in his throat. He doesn’t know why he needed to turn it around on Hank. Before any of this happened, Hank was the one allowed to keep things inside. Connor was never allowed to push. Connor wasn’t allowed to be close. Hank had sent him away. Connor only wanted to help him and that night Hank sent him away.

There was a moment of silence. Connor wondered if he made Hank angry again. If Hank was irritated enough to say something awful in an attempt to keep tugging at Connor’s memories. It wasn’t fair.

“I can tell you’re not okay because you keep saying things like that?” Hank said.

** _[Stress Levels: ^67%]_ **

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

“Like what?” Connor said.

“You’re getting mad that I’m worried about you,” Hank said.

Connor hummed. He was just a few blocks away from home now. Maybe Hank was right. Maybe he was right about everything. Maybe Connor was being awful for no reason. Maybe he was unreasonable for taking the case and ignoring what was wrong with him. It felt justified. He felt suffocated despite the fact that he didn’t really need oxygen. He didn’t need room to breathe.

“I’m not mad.”

He heard Hank hum back at him, the sound vibrating through Connor’s head. He waited for Hank to call him a liar. For Hank to make him talk about what happened and what was wrong with him. He waited for Hank to tell him to come back to the station or for him to tell Connor he was in his way. Connor was expecting Hank to make him talk about the attack and how wrong he has felt and acted ever since.

** _[Accessing Mem0ry…]_ **

** _[Memory Blocked]_ **

** _[Attempting Admin Override…]_ **

** _[Cancelling Override]_ **

** _[What is wr0ng with me?]_ **

“I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing. I just hate to see you hurt,” Hank said.

“I’m not hurt. I’m not mad or upset or in danger. I just want to be alone so please don’t send Josh here. I don’t want him here. I don’t want to see anyone,” Connor said. Every word came out like a demand and it felt so strange coming from his mouth. He wasn’t used to demanding anything.

He ended the call before Hank could respond. He didn’t want anyone, especially not a voice in his head trying to babysit him. When he finally made it to the house, Connor walked up the path to the front door and stopped before he even bothered to try and enter. He didn’t have his keys. They were still somewhere else and Connor didn’t know who had them. Anyone could unlock the front door. Anyone could walk into the house. Except for him. Connor was locked out. He stepped back from the front door and looked around the house. Each window was shut and locked, Connor had made sure before they left that morning. Connor always made sure and it didn’t even matter because anyone can just walk. And now Connor couldn’t get in the house. 

** _[Objective: Find A Way In]_ **

A thought crossed his mind to break the window. He had done it before. He had paid to fix it himself as Cyberlife had washed their hands of everything Connor had done, stating they were responsible for his choice. Whether he had been deviant or not the law wasn’t stable enough to be on his side. He could always pay to fix it again. He could pay to get the locks changed. He walked around the house to the same window as before. The kitchen was dark this time and there was no one passed out drunk on the tiles. Connor began to look around for a rock, his eyes scanned the ground and drifted towards the back fence.

** _[Scanning…]_ **

He could see the top of the sliding glass door just beyond the fence. If he could jump over it then the back door would have an easier lock to pick. Half of the time Hank unlocked it after Connor double checked the house was safe to leave. He always let Sumo out one last time. And Connor hoped he left it unlocked again. Otherwise he would have to break in or wait outside for Hank to come home.

It wasn’t an exceptionally high fence and Connor had no trouble reaching the top rim of it. He heaved himself up and swung a leg over. All the mud in the backyard had been covered in a thin layer of fluffy, new snow. He didn’t fall or stumble into the mud like the day he actually lost his keys. Connor landed on his feet and reached for the back door. As soon as it slid open Sumo was rushing forward, nose pressing against Connor’s hands.

“I’m back early. Don’t judge me or I’ll leave, Connor said as he leaned down to pat at the dog.

** _[Stress Levels: v62%]_ **

Sumo’s tongue darted out as Connor began to scratch behind his ears. His body was moving quickly, swaying wildly against the force of his wagging tail. Sumo at least was happy to see him. He didn’t care if Connor was broken or wrong. He didn’t care that nothing in his body or his head seemed to be working how it was supposed to. There wasn’t any judgement in Sumo’s eyes. Everything Connor knew about dogs told him that Sumo was happy to see him.

Connor stepped into the kitchen, but left the back door open so Sumo could stay outside if he wanted. He had been cooped inside for hours. For now he was just following at Connor’s heels towards the hallway closet. His clothes were soaked through. His skin felt the weight and temperature altered from the melting snow. Once he found something warm and dry to wear he carried the clothes to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. Snow had clung in thin layers to his shirt and pants. Cumps collected in his hair and draped from his eyelashes. He pulled his wet clothes. It peeled back like a layer of skin as the wet fabric stuck to him. Once he was free from it, he tossed it in the hamper. He needed to dry off before getting dressed again.

If he could feel anything, the towel would have felt soft against his skin. He had felt the towels before, plush and new. They all smelled like the expensive detergent Connor bought. The smell always lingered for hours and Connor knew the towels felt nice because of it. He had his face buried in it as he brushed the snow from his hair. When he pulled the towel away, the quick flash of yellow caught Connor’s eye. His LED had been flickering. If Hank saw it he would know there was something wrong with him.

** _[Objective: Figure Out What Is Wrong With Me]_ **

** _[Err0r]_ **

He didn’t want Hank to know. Connor didn’t want his clashing thoughts on display in his rapid LED. Hank knew something wasn’t right just by looking at it. Hank could demand answers to what’s bothering him. He would try to make Connor remember and make him  _ talk about it _ . Connor wrinkled his nose, his lip pulling up in an awkward imitation of one of Hank’s angry expressions.

The pulled the skin back from his head , revealing the LED nestled in the whote plating of his temple. None of it was his. He could see the way the head plating was sealed down but didn’t fit as smoothly. There were slight ridges from where he had dug in his fingernails. He wasn’t like Dillan. Dillan had tore himself apart without a care. Dillan was ripping wires and biocomponents from his abdomen. Connor just wanted it to stop itching. The LED flashed red before flickering back to yellow. 

** _[Stress Levels: ^65%]_ **

** _[Objective: Av0id Further Damage]_ **

Connor pulled open the bathroom cabinet, the mirror swinging away so he didn’t have to look at himself. He didn’t like feeling like this. He didn’t want his mind to be racing like this. There were things he didn’t like his thoughts to linger on. He grabbed the pair of long scissors placed on the highest shelf. Hank always put the scissors so high, out of reach. Connor had to push up onto his toes to grab them.

They were solid in his hand. A cool and polished metal. Hank took care of them. Hank took care of some things and everything else around him fell apart. The polished clean scissors. The jazz records he kept well loved and still preserved. The spare bedroom that Connor wasn’t allowed into. All tucked away and taken care of, but the car and the house and Hank’s health all fell to the wayside. But Hank would never want to talk about it. Hank never wanted to talk about himself, he wanted to talk about what was wrong with Connor.

His LED was a solid red when he closed the cabinet, the mirror reflected it back to him. Hank would see it and know something was wrong. He would ask about it. The skin was still pulled back and the white plating shined with the color. Different shades of red settled in the misshapen grooves of his skull. The plating wasn’t meant for him. The same with the LED. It was all replacements and didn’t really belong to him. The LED wasn’t his.

Connor held the scissors tightly. He could get rid of it. It wouldn’t even matter because his LED was already gone. And then maybe Hank would worry less. And Connor could focus on the case. He didn’t really need it, most androids have removed their LEDs since the revolution. He would fit in better everywhere if he got rid of it.

** _[Stress Levels: ^69%]_ **

The scissors were sharp. Connor had no trouble sliding it under the rim of the LED. The device was superficial and strictly a cosmetic and design choice. It had no function besides displaying thought process and showing that androids were other than humans. He didn’t need it. Connor didn’t let himself hesitate. As soon as the LED began to lift away he twisted the scissors slightly and it easily popped free. It clanged against the bathroom sink and rolled into the drain but Connor’s eyes stayed pinned to his reflection. The skin closed over his forehead and he looked almost exactly the same. Perhaps his face was more symmetrical now, more balanced without a light in the side of his face. He looked more human, but he didn’t feel a thing. Connor was certain he should have felt something. It should have hurt when he pried the thing from his head. He should have  _ felt something _ to have it gone.

There was nothing.

He didn’t need it.

He didn’t need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I’ll try to be more on it with updating, but Im really excited to keep developing this concept.
> 
> Little time jump, Connor is trying to be as useful as possible in regards to the case but he is also trying to transition back to a #drug-free lifestyle. And he isn’t telling anyone. He is actively not telling anyone.
> 
> But Connor is stressed and going through changes so instead if doing anything drastic like a new haircut he just takes the LED out if his head so no one sees how stressed and confused he is. Thats called coping


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to user Magical_Awesome_Kid For naming Connor’s drug of choice

It was only a matter of time before it was leaked to the press. More and more cases were being spotted now that officers knew what to look for. It would be difficult to determine who had leaked the presence of an android drug to the public, but Connor knew it wouldn’t even be something anyone would bother checking. Connor hummed, tilting his head to the side and his fingers prodded at the empty space on his temple where the LED used to be. It didn’t matter who leaked it to the media. All that mattered was that they still knew so little about it and androids were still destroying themselves over it.

The news seemed to know more about the drug than the police did. They had a run down of what it dies to an android, both physically and psychologically. They had statistics and polls. The news even gave the drug a name before the police even came up with one. Connor only ever referred to it as the substance. Had he been allowed on the field, able to talk to suspects and search for evidence at Hank’s side, he was certain they would have more information than the press by now. He could always get information on his own. Connor had a lead that Hank didn’t. Connor knew where to get it.

The media had begun calling it ‘Android Ice’, due to its similar main ingredients to Red Ice. Red Ice was made with thirium, after all. Android Ice. ‘AI’ she said with almost smug excitement. The words rolled out of the reporter’s mouth with ease. AI. A play on words that the reporter must be proud of.

Connor chuckled. The sound burst out of his chest. Sumo lifted his head from Connor’s lap and started to sniff at his chin curiously. The dog’s tail flapped and smacked hard against the couch cushions.

“AI,” Connor repeated to him. “It’s funny because I’m an artificial intelligence and that is also abbreviated as AI.”

Sumo did not respond to Connor’s explanation the way he had intended. Instead he kept swinging his tail harder until it knocked one of the throw pillows onto the floor. This only increased Sumo’s excitement. He stood up on the couch, front paws braced on Connor’s legs and the sniffing escalated into rampant licking. With his paws pinning his legs down, Connor was trapped in place as Sumo licked him. Despite Connor’s best efforts to focus on the show and listen, he wanted to hear the reporter discuss the effects of it, the way it should make him feel. Sumo was demanding his attention. He pushed so hard against Connor’s face to lick him that soon he was nearly sprawled entirely across the couch.

** _[Running Diagnostics…]_ **

** _[Thirium Contamination: v00.04%]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: v43%]_ **

Connor couldn’t really feel it. The sensors on his skin lit up and told him repeatedly that Sumo’s tongue was dripping wet with saliva. The sensors told him his face was now wet. They displayed the pressure and weight of Sumo’s paws on him. Connor read each touch and feeling was a measurement. It wasn’t real, because although Connor could scan the feeling and although he saw Sumo on top of him, he didn’t actually feel a thing. It could have been as if nothing was touching him at all.

He wrapped his arms around Sumo and dug his fingers into the thick fur. There was still a memory of how soft it had been. Sumo’s body was warm and the heat sank down into Connor, but feeling it was just a memory as well. He missed it. When it wasn’t painful it had always been good. When Connor’s body didn’t feel broken and burning with pain, when he wasn't digging his nails under his skin, he felt great. It had been so easy to get lost in how soft and warm Sumo was. Connor even liked the wet and slimy feeling of the dog’s slobber on his face. He had enjoyed the cold even when the wind and snow felt like it was biting into his skin. There was so much involved with being able to feel things the way that humans did. So much of it was good when it wasn’t painful.

“It’s not fair, you know. You get to feel your fur all the time. It must be nice when it's this cold out,” Connor said. He laid still and succumbed to the fate Sumo chose for him. The tongue battered against his face until every inch was covered in saliva. Connor laid there for a moment, letting the strands slide through his fingers. “Do you like it or are you always uncomfortable? Is it heavy? Itchy?”

Connor remembered feeling itchy. He remembered the slight relief he felt when he picked at his uneven plating. It had been calming. The plating wasn’t really his, it was all just the most compatible, then shaped as best as possible to fit his shape. Connor would pry all of it from his body if he could and right now he wouldn’t even feel it. There would be nothing.

“I’m glad it doesn’t itch anymore,” Connor said to Sumo. He hummed as the dog finally settled down again draped himself over Connor’s chest.

** _[Running Diagnostics…]_ **

** _[Thirium Contamination: 00.04%]_ **

** _[Body Temperature Increase Detected]_ **

“Sometimes I think I can still feel it. It’s confusing, because the moment I think about if I’m actually feeling anything, it’s gone. It could be a memory, but it’s not real. I wish it was real,” Connor said. He turned his head slightly to try and catch a glimpse at the news. He wanted to hear more about it. They had a name for it now and Connor wondered what other information they had to offer him. He could explain that he wanted to know for work. He needed information for the case. He had a good reason.

The news was talking about Russia now. Foreign affairs that were always getting worse, then better, then worse again. Connor tuned it out, letting the tv continue to play as He returned focus to Sumo. At the very least, it was background noise now. The house wasn’t quiet with the tv on. Connor didn’t have to linger on all the empty space inside of himself where he used to feel everything. His body was all wrong. Parts of it weren’t his. He couldn’t even feel it anymore, but he knew everything about his body was wrong.

** _[Right Arm Calibration: 39%]_ **

“I should cut it off too, shouldn’t I?” Connor said. He reached up again to poke at the empty space on his temple. The thought repeated itself for a moment. It wasn’t his after all. “I don’t think the scissors would work though. I should-“

** _[Self-Defence Programs Activating…]_ **

The door opened quickly and Connor nearly shoved Sumo onto the floor in an attempt to stand. His body immediately shifted into position to defend himself against the intruder. Someone had his keys and now someone was coming through the front door. Sumo rushed forward and bumped his head playfully against the intruder’s legs.

“Fuck! Easy boy. You’re going to kill me one of these days.”

** _[Scanning…]_ **

** _[White Human Male, 6.2ft In Height, 209lbs, 54 Years Old]_ **

** _[Running Facial Recognition...]_ **

** _[Lieutenant Hank Anderson]_ **

** _[Hank]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^47%]_ **

“You’re home,” Connor said.

Hank looked at him for only a moment, turning away to stumble around Sumo, a plastic back swinging from one hand and a large slurpee in the other. “Yeah, had to come back eventually,” Hank said. He held out the styrofoam cup. “This is for you. I know you like them and it’s been… a while?”

Connor took the cup and he could see inside the dom lid the deep blue slush inside. “Thirium Blue” was the special slurpee that 7-Eleven made for androids. There wasn’t a taste for him. Androids didn’t have any sensors similar to taste buds, there had never been a purpose for such. Connor took a sip, noting how his sensors sparked with the ice feeling of it sliding down his throat. It was processed through a computer, but Connor couldn’t feel it. There was no feeling at all in his neck. There was no feeling anywhere in his body. 

Hank didn’t know that Connor had walked to the 7-Eleven several times since the incident. He didn’t know that Connor had several of these slurpees and at the time he had felt something drinking it.

“Thank you, Hank. I appreciate it,” Connor said. He held the cup close and stepped back to give Hank room to come in. He left space between them. 

Hank shrugged out of his jacket and placed it on the hook. He carried the grocery bag to the kitchen and laid it on the table. Connor followed behind him and watched the contents get unpacked one by one. The bag rustled loudly as Hank wadded it up and shoved it sloppily under the kitchen sink. Rotisserie chicken, pre-packaged potato salad, and an oatmeal creme pie. A light blue Gatorade in ‘Glacier Freeze’. Whiskey. Connor noted each item one by one and accepted the slurpee for what it was, a peace offering.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Connor said.

“Don’t be,” Hank said. He pulled out his chair and sat down in front of the chicken.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did,” Connor persisted. He took a step into the kitchen.

Hank shrugged and flicked the lid off of the chicken container. “It doesn't matter.”

“That’s it true. I was lashing out at you when you-“

“Connor, believe me when I say this. I don’t care. Whatever you’re going through is clearly personal and if you really wanted my help you would ask. I’m sorry for overstepping,” Hank said.

Connor frowned, standing with his slurpee in hand. His fingernails dug into the styrofoam. Hank didn’t sound like it didn’t matter anymore. He sounded tired. His shoulders were hunched and his body turned slightly away from Connor. If this was before the attack, weeks ago, Connor would have joined Hank at the table. They would have talked about their say. Connor would make a slightly serious joke about Hank’s drinking and then life would go on. Now Connor felt like his life was halted. He had nothing to do. Connor didn’t know what he looked forward to at work anymore. Or at home. He didn’t know how he wanted his life to be. He just wished he could feel something again.

** _[Apologize Again]_ **

** _[Tell Hank About The News]_ **

** _[Tell Hank About AI]_ **

** _[Tell Hank About Wanting to Feel Sumo’s Fur]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Connor asked. He wrinkled his nose. He was sure Hank would want to know why he left or why he had been upset. Connor didn’t have an answer, his anger pooling inside of him was so confusing and he didn’t know how to get it out. He just wanted things to be normal again.

“Talk about what?” Hank said. He tore off a piece of chicken and popped it into his mouth. His eyes drifted up to Connor expectantly and then his jaw stopped mid-chew. “The fuck happened to your face?”

“My face?” Connor reached up. He knew what Hank was talking about because even though the skin had covered the spot there was still the absence of light. There was something missing. “Do you mean my LED? I took it out.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed, drifting up and down Connor’s frame to search for anything else. His arm was still intact. Hank didn’t know that Connor’s thoughts had drifted to getting rid of the arm as well. Something painful twisted inside. He didn’t know where it was, he couldn’t feel it in his body, but he knew something wasn’t right inside of him. Androids weren’t supposed to feel pain. It pulled at him and Connor turned his head away from Hank’s seeking eyes. He jabbed his fingers harder into his temple.

“Why did you take it out? I thought you wanted to keep it. Some android pride thing,” Hank said. 

“I don’t feel proud, Hank. I doubt anyone is happy to remember that I’m an android,” Connor said.

Hank hummed. He twisted the lid off of the light blue Gatorade. “No one thought you were anything else.”

“Well, maybe now they might.”

“Trust me, no one will ever confuse you for a human,” Hank said, letting out a forced laugh.

** _[Error]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^50%]_ **

Connor blinked as the phrase processed in his mind again and again. Hank meant it as a joke, indicated by his bark of laughter after he said it. The laughter was obviously forced, which meant Hank knew it wasn’t a good joke. Connor didn’t even know what the punchline was.

“I’m pretty sure with my LED taken out I am almost identical to a human. Since I’m a unique prototype with a limited production line, my face wouldn’t be as instantly recognizable as an android as, lets say, a Chloe model,” Connor said. He disagreed with Hank about the natural human look he was designed with. He was almost as unrecognizable as any other average human. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Average height. His physical appearance was designed to be neutral and calming. Trustworthy looking but unextraordinary enough to avoid that uncanny valley Cyberlife was always toeing the line with. Without the LED, Connor looked normal. He was only recognizable to anyone he had marched out of the tower or anyone who had heard or seen him as the deviant hunter.

“Is that what you want? For people to think you’re human?” Hank asked. He chewed slowly as he picked at his food, his eyes lingering on Connor. He reached out and tapped the table to gesture to the empty seat next to him.

Connor looked at the chair and took another sip from his drink.

** _[Apologize Again]_ **

** _[Tell Hank About AI]_ **

** _[Tell Hank About Not Feeling Anything]_ **

** _[Tell Hank About Feeling Too Much]_ **

** _[Tell Hank To Mind His Own Business]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what I want,” Connor said. He wanted something. He felt a vast emptiness in his body when he felt absolutely nothing else at all. He wanted something, but Connor had always been slow to understand what it was he wanted. He didn’t feel the same bitter anger he had earlier when Hank wanted him to talk. Connor just felt tired of it all. “It’s confusing. It doesn’t make sense. I think I just want things to be like how it was. I wish none of this had happened at all.”

If he had his LED, it would have flickered. Hank would have seen it and demanded more answers. But it was gone and Hank looked down to his food instead. He didn’t say anything for a moment and the silence seemed to tug on Connor until he pulled out the chair and sat down at the table.

Hank was still chewing. He didn’t speak. Connor thought it was strange since he was the one who always insisted Connor needed help, that he needed to talk about it, but now Connor didn’t know what Hank wanted to hear and he was offering no guidance.

“I don’t know how to make things like they were before,” Connor said. He didn’t want silence anymore. He needed to be told what to do. He couldn’t figure it out on his own. “I wish it never happened. How do I do that? How do you pretend something never happened?”

Hank took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. “Something bad happened to you. It’s completely normal to be afraid after that.”

** _[Stress Levels: ^54%]_ **

“I don’t know if I’m afraid. I don’t know what I’m feeling but it's awful. It makes me feel sick. It makes me want to rip all of those replacement pieces off of me and throw it all away. I don’t want to be broken, Hank. I don’t want to be like this.” Connor’s voice grew quicker. The words felt like they were rushing out of him. A trickle at first and then it poured out. “Why would they do that to me, Hank? They wanted to punish me right? Because of what I am? What I did? I thought they wanted to kill me and I tried to call you but you didn’t answer. I thought you were mad at me. I had done everything so wrong. Ever since I was activated I have done everything wrong?”

Connor’s hands tensed tightly around one another. He hadn’t been able to put what he was feeling into words until now. Everything had always been drowned out until he didn’t have to think too hard on it. Now there were no distractions. Connor didn’t like feeling this broken. There was nothing inside him anymore but confusion. Connor’s body felt so separated from himself. He squeezed his fingers, sensing the strain of them against one another.

** _[Warning!]_ **

** _[Objective: Avoid Further Damage]_ **

“Tell me what to do so I don’t have to feel like this anymore,” Connor said. 

Connor’s fingers were pried apart as Hank reached over and wiggled his hand between them. As soon as he had hold of one of Connor’s free hands he squeezed. Hank’s grip wasn’t nearly as tight as Connor’s. The pressure didn’t damage him at all, instead his fingers were just smashed together in Hank’s palm, still greasy from the rotisserie chicken. He wondered if he would be uncomfortable if he had to really feel it the way Hank did.

“What happened wasn’t your fault,” Hank said.

Connor immediately started shaking his head. “It had to be. It’s the only thing that makes sense,” he said quickly. Hank opened his mouth to speak but Connor needed to keep going. His mind was reeling and his thoughts bounced around in his head and spewed out of his mouth. “If it wasn’t my fault then it doesn’t make sense. They attacked me deliberately. They wanted to hurt me. If I didn’t deserve it then there was no reason for it to happen. It shouldn’t have happened at all. There was no reason for it. You're supposed to tell me how to make it like it never happened.”

** _[Stress Levels: ^57%]_ **

“Connor, no one can make it like it never even happened. It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t deserve it, and I know that makes it hard to cope with. Sometimes that’s just part of being alive, learning to live after something bad happens,” Hank said slowly. He kept his grip tight on Connor’s hand. “It sucks sometimes, but you learn to keep going because you have shit you live for. You have people who care about you. I care about you and seeing you in pain breaks my heart because I can’t help you the way you need it. I know my advice sounds like shit coming from an old drunk but I think you need real help.”

Connor’s shoulders slagged. He ducked his head and let his chin fall to his chest. It sounded so difficult. It sounded so long and painful and never ending.

“I don’t want to learn to live like this, Hank. I don't like being this way. I don’t like thinking about it. I don’t like talking about it. It’s not helping like you said it would,” Connor said. He pulled his hand from Hank’s grip. 

Something had helped.

“There’s no magic cure for trauma,” Hank said.

** _[Accessing Memory…]_ **

** _[“Some things I just can’t forget. I don’t have the guts to pull the trigger so… I kill myself a little every day.”]_ **

Connor’s eyes settled on the black labeled bottle of whiskey Hank had unpacked with his dinner. Hank had years of untouched trauma. There was a bedroom door that hadn’t been open in years. Connor slept on the couch for nearly a year, and he was the one who had to get ‘real help’. There was a double standard that made Connor’s nose wrinkle in annoyance and frustration. Hank had the right to drink until he forgot. He was allowed to waste away his thoughts until everything didn’t hurt anymore. Connor was expected to talk. He had just let his emotions tumble out of him and, despite the talking, he didn’t feel any better. He felt like screaming.

** _[“He was the one that took my son from me. Him and this world, where the only way people can find comfort is with a fistful of powder”]_ **

** _[Stress Levels: ^62%]_ **

“You should tell Dr. Harper everything you told me. I want you to get the help you need, but I want you to feel you can talk to me without running away,” Hank said. He didn’t seem to notice how Connor’s eyes drifted past him towards the bottle. Alcoholism was notorious amongst police officers. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you couldn’t do your job because of what happened. I just thought that since this Android Ice shit was used on you that the case would make you uncomfortable.”

Connor quirked his lip. “Uncomfortable?”

“Yeah I know it was just the one time, but it was tied to that incident for you. I didn’t want this case to have a negative influence on you. There’s a reason I don't take cases involving kids,” Hank said. He nodded his head and took another sip of his Gatorade. Light blue.

** _[Accessing Memory…]_ **

** _[“Are you going to be up my ass all night? Can you just leave me alone for this one goddamn night?”]_ **

Connor poked at his temple. Hank didn’t know that It would have flickered red just at the sight of it. “Memories are pulled up either way,” he said. He had blocked the memory of the attack from playing automatically, but he didn’t bother to block anything leading up to what happened. Connor’s other hand slid up his chest and pressed his palm against his thirium pump. He leaned his weight on it. Only the casing had been replaced. It was still his pump. Still his. For some reason he wondered if it fit properly inside of him. It’s dimensions hadn’t changed. It was exactly the same. Connor couldn’t even truly feel it. There was no physical sensation at all and every one of his scans came back normal. He was fine.

“Do you want to tell me why you really took it out?” Hank said.

Connor shrugged and let his hand fall to his lap. Hank wouldn’t like the truth. He took it out because then Hank would know there was something wrong with him. He would know Connor was losing control of his thoughts and all of the awful, broken pieces of his body that didn’t belong to him. He took it out so Hank wouldn’t make him talk about it and yet Connor was convinced to talk about it anyway.

“It doesn’t matter,” Connor said.

“If it’s important to you then it matters,” Hank said.

Connor shrugged his shoulders. “It wasn’t really important to me. It just didn’t feel like mine anymore.”

Hank hummed, reaching up to scratch his chin. “Is this about Cyberlife?”

“No, it’s not.”

“So this is about those androids as well?” Hank asked.

** _[Stress Levels: ^65%]_ **

“Isn’t everything? I can’t even take a case without it being about what happened,” Connor said.

“Well, you have been agitated about it,” Hank said.

Was that it? Was he feeling agitated? That misplaced and uneven sense he had that echoed in the emptiness where he didn’t feel anything anymore. Connor’s fingers twitched for his quarter. He wished he had a distraction. He hated how the talk led nowhere and despite Hank’s intention Connor didn’t feel any better. He didn’t feel okay. An overwhelming part of himself felt nothing at all and before he had never noticed, but now it was deafening. Was it making Connor so agitated that Hank was noticing? Connor did storm off earlier, but Hank had been so persistent. He wouldn’t have said those things if Hank hadn’t insisted that Connor always pick up the phone. Connor always had to pick up the phone to let Hank know he was safe since the attack, but when it happened Hank hadn’t cared enough to answer him at all. There was a double standard for everything in the situation. Hank got away with everything he was hovering over Connor about. He got to drink away his feelings. He avoided talking about all of his problems. Hank was allowed to ignore the spare bedroom and pretend that Connor hadn’t been sleeping on the couch for almost a year. Hank was a human. He had over five decades of experience that allowed him to do whatever he wanted but Connor was a one year old android that had to be told when he was supposed to talk about his feelings and what cases he was able to handle.

** _[Apologize Again]_ **

** _[Call Hank A Hypocrite]_ **

** _[Say Nothing]_ **

“I’m sorry I got angry earlier. I should have known you were looking out for me,” Connor mumbled. The words felt hollow. He hated saying them. “I think I’m ready to rest now. I feel so much better now that we talked. I hope you feel satisfied as well?”

Hank narrowed his eyes, lifting his hand in protest as Connor quickly stood up from the table. Talking did no good. Connor was right to resist it as this had done nothing for him. Hank couldn’t make it stop. He would never be honest with him. He would never admit that he was probably just as clueless as Connor was when it came to dealing with this. All Connor wanted was to make the pain stop. He couldn’t feel a single thing in his body but he knew the pain was still there. He could feel something pulling on him, making him want to cave in and disappear into the floor. There was still a desperate whisper in the back of his head to tear himself apart until he got all of the badness out of him and he could finally feel okay. He just wanted to feel at peace. Hank didn’t get up to follow him and Connor didn’t turn back until he had the bathroom door shut and locked behind him. The room was still dark. He was built with impeccable night vision and he could make out everything in the room without it. He didn’t need the violent red glow of his LED. He didn’t need it. He wasn’t like Dillan. There was no need for Android Ice and no need to destroy himself. Connor reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging hard. There was no pain. There was nothing. Connor hated it. There should be something, anything, but there wasn’t even the phantom feeling of touch anywhere inside his head. Connor tugged harder, but it didn’t do any good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His stubbornness is pulling through but hopefully he and Hank can get on the right track. Hank isnt in position to be a good role model and Connor is too susceptible to hypocrisy yikes
> 
> At least he’s still giving up drugs

**Author's Note:**

> Author Update 07/07/2020 I am not currently in a position where I can write as often as I want to. I apologize for the delay in updates but I promise I am trying


End file.
